


The Measure of Our Lives

by TheGirlWhoRemembers



Series: The Measure of Our Lives 'verse [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Fan-made Season 4 While We Wait, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Some Romance, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-03-07 14:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 123,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWhoRemembers/pseuds/TheGirlWhoRemembers
Summary: My version of Season 4, written in the break between Season 3 and 4. Latest update:4.15, Forgive/Forget.Drama is in the air when the Coltons and the Phoenix team up again, and the family makes sure that Billy Colton understands that he made a very, very big mistake.





	1. Homemade

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up right at the end of my episode tag for the Season 3 finale, _Bad and Worse_. Please go read that first, or this won’t make a whole heap of sense, I think…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A desperate Kovac attacks the HQ of Jack’s taskforce, apparently leaving no survivors. The grieving team is tasked with finishing Jack’s last mission, but they’re in for a surprise. For once, it’s a good one.

**SOMEWHERE IN THE BALKANS**

**(THE EXACT LOCATION IS CLASSIFIED)**

* * *

‘…and then, there’s a bang, and Cousin George says to me, _we gotta run, Jack, the Terminator’s coming!_ And trust me, he was coming, and he wasn’t Arnie, and I was thinking, _man, we’re-‘_

Jack, his feet up on a desk, was chatting with Mac, Bozer and Riley, enjoying some rare downtime that lined up with their downtime, when the call suddenly cut out.

A second later, the lights flickered ominously, and the power went out.

He glanced around the room, at Deacon, Fitzy, Munoz, Lanier and Worthy.

(All of ‘Dalton’s Heroes’, as they now called themselves, thanks to Mac, had been recalled when Kovac had turned out to be not-dead after all, except Thorpe.)

All of them had that same look on their faces.

Their guts were all telling them, _I have a bad feeling about this._

And when guys like them with their training and experience all got that gut feeling, you knew it was about to go south.

Real south.

Munoz grabbed his laptop, which still had power, and tried to bring up the feeds from their cleverly-hidden security cameras, but got nothing.

Hands shifted to weapons.

Jack’s radio crackled to life.

‘We’re…under attack…he…’

It cut out after a gunshot.

Weapons came out and were checked. At least three of them touched their boots, near their ankles, double-checking that the back-up to the back-up was there.

(Old habits died hard.)

‘What’s the plan, boss?’

Jack addressed Munoz, even as he assessed the situation.

‘Told you not to call me that, man.’

‘Hey, it’s Dalton’s Heroes, not Fitzy’s, so you _are_ the boss, Dalton.’

Fitzy, predictably, made an affronted noise at Munoz’s retort.

That familiar banter, that way of keeping some light in the darkness, brought grim smiles to all the men’s faces.

Jack, too, smiled grimly as he considered, checking the magazine in his gun out of habit.

Their position inside HQ was pretty defensible, with plenty of furniture for barricades and cover, and the various doors provided chokepoints.

But this was Tiberius Kovac, who definitely wanted them all six feet under and deader than dodos.

(Who else would it be, after all?)

Kovac would have brought plenty and plenty of firepower. They’d be severely out-gunned and out-numbered.

Besides, knowing him and his thing for blowing up buildings, he’d just launch a rocket at HQ.

They were dead if they stayed here.

Jack dove under his desk, grabbed his knife and tore out a section of carpet, revealing a trapdoor in the floor.

A secret escape hatch.

Which probably wasn’t super-secret, since it connected to a network of tunnels from the Balkan War.

Kovac probably knew it was there already. Hell, he might have a map of the tunnels, and an ambush all set up.

They might be dead men if they went down there too.

But, in Jack’s mind, it was better to die bringing the fight to the baddies then waiting for them to get to you.

‘We’re getting outta here, boys.’

He looked around, saw that same knowledge and acceptance and that touch of fear and sadness on their faces.

With a pang, he was reminded of Honduras, in that cabin, and of course, that reminded him of Mac.

This time, there wouldn’t be Mac buying them time with something genius and crazy and weird that only he could do, and Matty swooping in to save them.

They were on their own.

There were affected nonchalant shrugs all around the room.

‘Blood makes the grass grow.’

‘Shame to stain the carpet.’

‘Hoo-rah!’

They headed into the tunnels.

* * *

**TEN MINUTES LATER**

* * *

The force of an explosion somewhere above and behind them even rocked the tunnels a little, but Dalton’s Heroes had bigger problems to worry about.

They were engaged in a running battle with Kovac’s men, who had indeed followed them into the tunnels.

Jack fired off three shots behind them, cursing as he realized his mag was empty. Worthy tossed him a spare, while Fitzy covered as Deacon, half-carrying Munoz (he’d taken a shot to the thigh, too close to a major artery, based on the amount of blood he’d left behind, and the state he was in – they didn’t need to be field medics like Lanier to know that), went past as fast as he could, following Lanier, who was taking point.

Jack and Worthy exchanged a glance as they, continuing to provide return fire and hoping like hell they didn’t get hit, ran after the rest of the squad.

Jack knew that Caleb was thinking that at least he’d gotten to talk to Olivia and his kid that morning, one last time, because Jack was thinking the exact same thing.

* * *

**FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER**

* * *

Dalton’s Heroes gathered in the clearing. Lanier, bleeding himself from the left bicep, got to work tightening a tourniquet around Munoz’s leg as best as he could, once Deacon and Fitzy had lowered the now-unconscious man to the ground as gently as they could.

Deacon hissed in pain as he did so, bringing a hand to the through-and-through high in his right arm. Fitzy took stock of their remaining ammo (a grand total of six bullets between them), while Jack, limping due to a nasty bullet graze that was really more of a gouge in his right calf, limped towards a large tree, and pulled his knife from his boot. He carved a symbol into the tree, small and discreet, going deep enough to draw sap and smearing some around, before slicing off his leather wristband.

Worthy watched as he tried to keep guard, despite the fact his head was swimming. He tightened his belt around his calf, the pain helping him focus, just a little bit.

The brothers-in-arms looked around at each other as the inevitable footsteps and shouts grew closer, from all sides.

They were surrounded.

Jack smiled at them, grim, but heartfelt.

‘Gentlemen, it’s been an honour.’

* * *

**ONE MINUTE LATER**

* * *

Dalton’s Heroes were surrounded, held at gunpoint by a dozen men with semi-automatics.

Their last six bullets had all been spent, and their knives taken.

Then, a man strode into the clearing, a gloating grin on his face.

It took them a moment to recognize him, even if his face was very, very familiar to them.

(There was – or there’d been, now – a large picture of him, that very same one that’d arrived, mysteriously, on Jack’s phone months ago, on a wall in their HQ.)

Tiberius Kovac was indeed alive.

But Jack hadn’t been wrong when he’d seen him go down, and he hadn’t been wrong in reporting that his shot had hit.

The hair on the left side of Kovac’s head was patchy at best. There was an ugly, gnarled scar on the back of his head.

But that was nothing compared to the front.

His left eye was covered by an eyepatch, and an entire side of his face heavily disfigured.

His smirk was very crooked, as it seemed he couldn’t quite move that side of his mouth properly.

 _How_ had Kovac survived that headshot?

‘Long time, no see, Tiberius.’ Jack, kneeling on the ground at gunpoint, grinned back at Kovac, as one of Kovac’s men dug his gun’s muzzle rather painfully into the back of Jack’s head, as if emphasising, _no funny business._ Jack forced that grin to widen in response. ‘Honestly, thought I’d never see you again.’ He forced his expression into something questioning, wondering, before making realization flit across his face. ‘You a vampire? Or a secret clone? Whaddya think, Fitzy, which’d be cooler?’

Tiberius Kovac, anger obvious even on his twisted face, gestured to the man holding Jack’s arm, who wrenched it painfully, before forcing Jack closer to the ground. Kovac strode forward, and kicked him, hard, in the face.

Almost, but not quite, hard enough to knock him out.

Jack got a mouthful of mud from Kovac’s boot, and turned his head to spit it out behind him, the guard having let go of him for a moment due to the force of his boss’s kick.

Jack’s vision swam, blurred, spun.

Then, the muzzle of a gun was brought down on his temple, and he knew no more.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Mac, Bozer, Riley and Desi filed into the war room, conspicuously silent, and oddly still.

Riley’s eyes were still a little puffy. Mac’s didn’t look much better. Neither did Bozer’s.

Desi’s eyes were dry and her skin as perfect as ever. She clasped her hands behind her back, swallowed, and addressed Matty.

‘Boss?’

For a moment, Mac thought he heard hope, _desperate, pleading hope,_ in Desi’s voice.

Matty shook her head, in that deceptively gentle way of hers.

‘Still no survivors, just like previous reports.’ She looked at them all a moment, that something gentle still in her eyes, before turning and tapping the screen. Mac leaned down and grabbed a paperclip from the bowl on the table, which appeared to have been recently refilled. ‘Forensic techs are combing the scene; so far, they’ve got three key locations. The building itself, a network of underground tunnels…and this.’

A series of photos came up on the screen, of a clearing in the woods.

And six bullet holes in six trees, surrounded by blood splatter, at around the height of a man kneeling, one noticeably a few inches higher than the rest.

An execution site.

Riley made a little noise that was almost a sob, but willed herself to stop. Matty was showing them this for a reason, and she knew why.

(She’d cry again later.)

Bozer reached out and squeezed her hand in comfort for a moment.

Mac’s hands moved faster, reshaping that paperclip like his life depended on it.

Desi swallowed, and _something,_ complex and deeply felt and _guarded,_ crossed her face.

Grief and worry flashed across Matty’s, and then she continued.

‘The Phoenix has been tasked with finishing the job.’ She looked each of them in the eye in turn. ‘I’m sending you to Montenegro to hunt down that SOB and _take him out_. For good.’

Riley took a deep breath and nodded, as Bozer did too, even raising his hand for a salute in a way that made all their heartstrings twist painfully, at a memory.

Mac nodded, a little jerkily, and tossed the re-formed paperclip onto the coffee table.

A star.

Or, surely, the Lone Star of Texas.

‘For Jack.’

The words were more than a little shaky with emotion. They were echoed back at him, just as full of grief and hurt and pain and love and loss.

Even, he swore, Desi’s.

It was enough to make him turn his head, look at her.

(He had never gotten the story of why she owed Jack. Judging by what little he could read from her now, on her face, in her voice, it was a lot more than a simple debt.)

(He’d never texted her those details, never raised those half-formed plans again. He’d been out of it the last week, mostly lost in his own head.)

(Desi had been…odd, cold and particularly prickly since that night _after_.)

(Mac really couldn’t read her well, but he thought he might have offended her by not texting about their not-date.)

(Worse, he couldn’t even bring himself to care.)

(Not now. Not after all this. Not after Charlie and Mason and his dad and _Jack._ )

Matty’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, brought him out from staring at the abyss, at least for a moment.

‘You’re wheels up for Montenegro in thirty.’

He latched onto that, told himself very, very sternly to focus. To concentrate.

To stay out of the rabbit hole in his mind, to not topple into that abyss.

For Jack.

* * *

**SOMEWHERE IN MONTENEGRO?**

* * *

Munoz _screamed_ , even through the thick leather shoved roughly into his mouth, as the hot branding iron was pressed to the gunshot wound in his leg, cauterizing it. One of Kovac’s men, wearing gloves, inserted an IV into his arm before restraining him again with leg and arm shackles, like the rest of his brothers-in-arms.

Jack, his head _throbbing,_ turned to Kovac, who was watching, with a rather savage gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as Munoz had screamed, which Jack really didn’t like.

(He was beginning to sense where this was going…and uncomfortably, painfully, reminded of his and Mac’s thwarted trip to Vegas for the seven-and-a-half year manniversary…and a fateful day in Indonesia, what felt like a lifetime ago.)

‘Why are you doing this?’

Kovac smirked in a way that was definitely savage, stalking closer to Jack.

‘Do you know how long I suffered, recovering from this?’ He gestured to his face, and that savage look in his eyes grew wilder, crueller. ‘Do you really think I’d let you have an easy death?’

As Kovac turned away and swept out of their cell, Jack sent up a prayer to whoever might be listening up there that Mac had gotten his message.

* * *

**SOMEWHERE ELSE IN MONTENEGRO**

**FORMER LOCATION OF JACK’S TASKFORCE’S HQ**

* * *

Mac, Bozer, Riley and Desi emerged from the tunnels, Desi thanking a local forensic tech in Serbian.

Mac was too lost in his own thoughts to remember something like manners and societal convention.

All attempts to track Kovac via satellite or his phone or chatter had failed. Local techs had tried. The best from every country that’d contributed to the taskforce had tried.

 _Riley_ had spent the entire flight over trying, harder than Mac had ever seen her try (which was saying a lot), except for an hour when Bozer had coaxed her into taking a nap.

They were still trying, but the look on Riley’s face told them that it wasn’t likely anything would turn up.

That it was pretty much impossible that something would.

Finding Kovac was going to come down to what could be found, in physical evidence, here.

And there was nothing of use in the rubble, or the tunnels.

Nothing that’d lead them to Kovac.

Without a word, without even glancing back at them, Mac jogged off towards the last site, that clearing in the woods where…

Desi glanced back at Riley and Bozer, then jogged after Mac, single-minded focus in her eyes.

Bozer just glanced at Riley, worry clear on his face.

(If Desi was hard to read, Bozer was easy.)

‘We could just head back to the command tent…bet the computer techs would love to have your help…’

It was an obvious excuse.

For a moment, Riley was tempted to take it.

She didn’t want to see where…

But she steeled herself and shook her head.

‘No, we can help.’

With sheer will and determination, Riley jogged off after Desi and Mac.

Following behind, Bozer wondered how he was going to put Mac and Riley back together again after this.

He _had_ to, but he had no idea if he could.

* * *

**SOMEWHERE IN MONTENEGRO?**

* * *

‘…it is a dark time for the Rebellion. Although…’ Jack panted, drawing in what air he could before the cattle prod held by one of Kovac’s minions was thrust back into his chest. He grit his teeth, tried not to scream, and kept reciting the first thing that’d come to mind. ‘…the Death Star…has been destroyed…’ He sucked in air desperately again. ‘…Imperial troops have driven…’ Another breath. ‘…the Rebel forces from their hidden base and…’ When the cattle prod withdrew, it didn’t return in the customary five seconds it had earlier. Kovac, watching with that very savage gleam in his eyes that Jack really, really, really didn’t like, raised a hand to stay his man. Jack forced himself to look Kovac in the eye and speak irreverently. ‘Aw, come on, man, I only got halfway through _Empire_ , you gotta hear my _Return of the Jedi_ one, at least!’

Kovac just smirked

‘Oh, you’ll have plenty of time, Dalton, don’t worry.’

He gestured at another man, who came forward holding another cattle prod.

This looked like a jacked-up version, like what you’d get if you let Mac at a cattle prod, and told him to make it better.

Actually, Jack corrected in his head, that was probably wrong, since Mac would probably try and _reduce_ the pain they caused, not _increase._

What Mac’s evil twin would produce, he corrected himself, if given a cattle prod and told to make it better.

As the new prod was thrust at his chest, and _pain_ arched through him, Jack _hoped._

* * *

**SOMEWHERE ELSE IN MONTENEGRO**

**FORMER LOCATION OF JACK’S TASKFORCE’S HQ**

* * *

When he reached the clearing, for a moment, Mac was completely, utterly still. Frozen.

Then, he took two steps forward, and started looking around, taking in every little bit of information, letting it catalogue and filter and process in his brain.

Something, though he couldn’t tell you what, not yet, caught his eye, and without even thinking about it, Mac walked forward, crouched by a tree.

He pulled out his Swiss Army knife, and using the large blade, picked up some tree sap. It was malleable, still.

Fresh.

His eyes scanned the area nearby. The sap pattern seemed unnatural; unlikely, given his knowledge of physics and chemistry and botany, to be positioned where it was.

And then, he saw it.

A tiny Ankh, carved into the tree.

 _Hope_ bloomed in his chest, as memories of Cairo flowed through his mind, unbidden (of Jack’s constant, incessant commentary and questions, often stupid or culturally insensitive or both, constantly asking him what this _hero-glyphic_ meant or that one, or lecturing Mac on what he’d read in some clearly inaccurate ‘Egyptology’ book when he was a kid).

‘Guys…’ Desi, Bozer and Riley came over. ‘Jack left us a message.’

His companions’ expressions were all a mix of sceptical and hopeful (Desi much more sceptical than hopeful), but Mac didn’t notice, as another memory struck him.

In Cairo, they’d picked up an intel drop from an undercover agent.

At a café, a little hole-in-the-wall place.

And its logo had been an Ankh.

Mac looked around, and started rummaging around the base of the tree, under the Ankh, shifting leaf litter.

Moving some of the leaves uncovered something that they all recognized.

Jack’s leather wristband.

Glances were exchanged (now a touch, perhaps, more hopeful), and then Mac, using the tweezers from his Swiss Army knife, moved the wristband, unfolded it.

Inside, there was blood…and what looked like mud.

Bozer’s face visibly fell. Desi’s eyes grew more shuttered, harder, less hopeful. Riley sucked in a breath, eyes closing for a beat.

Mac stared at the blood and mud for a moment, before speaking.

‘I need a sample tube and a Q-tip.’

Bozer pulled a sterile tube and Q-tip kit they’d borrowed from local forensic techs out of his bag.

‘Bro…’

His tone was worried, between warning Mac against false hope, and desperately wanting to believe it himself.

That desperation was clearly winning.

Mac transferred the mud/blood mix to the sample tube, sealed it and snapped a quick photo of the Ankh and the wristband, before transferring the wristband into a sample bag that Bozer passed wordlessly to him.

Then, he jumped up, and made to head for the command tent.

‘We need to get Jack’s message analysed ASAP.’

Without another word, he started to jog off.

‘Mac.’ When he didn’t stop at her calling his name, Desi called out louder, chased after her partner. ‘Mac!’ She caught up with him just as he reached the other side of the clearing, grabbed his forearm to stall him. ‘Mac, there’s following your gut, and then there’s… _this_. You’re grasping at straws. This might not mean anything. It could even be a trap.’

Mac forced down that wave of anger. Getting mad at Desi was not going to help.

And he knew, deep down, that she was only trying to protect him. Trying to protect them all (her included) from false hope.

Jack might have left them a message, but that mud/blood mix in his wristband might not have been it. It was possible that Jack might not have managed to leave his message in the end, or that he might have, but it might not prove useful.

He was alive to carve that Ankh, but that didn’t mean he was alive now.

And hell, it could even be a trap set by Kovac.

They all knew that, even without Desi saying it.

But Mac _needed_ to believe. He needed to…to delude himself, as Desi was just about saying.

Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to keep going.

He took a deep breath, turned his head to look Desi in the eye, aware that there was probably something hard and cold and angry in there, but not able to muster up enough control to contain it, even if it was unfair to direct it at her.

‘It’s all we got.’

He shook his arm free from her grip, and jogged off.

* * *

‘…the blood is a match for Jack Dalton.’ The forensic tech indicated the results from the tests run on the sample Mac had brought back for analysis. ‘Soil and plant matter profiles are typical for this area, and not noteworthy, but there is an interesting mixture of fungal species. _Inocybe, Hebeloma, Xerocamus, Lactarius_ and _Thelephora_ species, as well as various ascomycete endophytes…’

That did not mean anything to Riley, Bozer, Desi or Matty, listening in via video-call on Desi’s phone, other than a dead end, but Mac’s brow furrowed, and he leaned over the tech’s shoulder to get a better look at the data.

The other four exchanged a glance behind his back, partly hopeful, partly deeply worried.

‘Did you find any _Epipogium aphyllum_ in the sample?’

The tech’s brow furrowed too, and he typed for a beat, searching the raw data.

‘Not from untargeted detection, but…’ He pointed at something on the screen, a series of lines with numbers on top. ‘…if I search for it, yes.’ He paused, hesitated after glancing at Mac. ‘The level is very low, it may just be noise…’

Mac nodded.

‘I know, thanks.’ He turned to Riley. ‘I need you to cross-reference known locations of _Epipogium aphyllum,_ otherwise known as the ghost orchid, with locations Kovac could have reached by now.’ Mac pulled a paperclip from his pocket, which started to rapidly take the shape of a flower, presumably this ghost orchid. ‘It’s an extremely rare plant, there shouldn’t be many hits…’

 _Yes, I know, it’s pretty lame that I know so much about_ Epipogium aphyllum.

_But can you blame me?_

_It’s a heterotrophic plant that doesn’t contain any chlorophyll! Which means that according to what you and I learned in high school, it isn’t even a plant._

Desi crossed her arms and glanced at the blonde.

‘This is even crazier.’ There were _so_ many assumptions in there. Mac forced down that anger again. Desi’s tone wasn’t cruel or even challenging, it was bluntly factual, in a way that he swore wasn’t just directed at him, or even him and Bozer and Riley and Matty, but her, a little, too. Her expression softened suddenly, growing cautiously hopeful and sad and even affectionate. ‘But it is for Jack.’

On-screen, Matty nodded.

‘I’ll liaise with local authorities and get you a tac-team.’

Mac tossed the orchid-shaped paperclip onto the desk, next to Riley’s laptop as he watched over her shoulder, and gave his boss a nod of thanks.

* * *

**SOMEWHERE IN MONTENEGRO?**

* * *

As Fitzy and Deacon’s screams rang out, Worthy locked eyes with Jack cross their cell. He glanced at the guards at the door, then started signing to Jack, using the modified form of Delta hand signals that their squad had developed over the years.

_Reckon your boy got that message you left?_

Jack signed back immediately.

_Yes._

There was a gap as the guards turned to look at them. When they looked away again, Worthy replied.

_Reckon he’ll find us?_

Jack’s response was just as quick again.

 _Yes._ He paused, took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking at Worthy again. _Eventually._ Another pause, and a look on his face that Caleb recognized. That same complicated, yet oh-so-simple mix of emotions he’d felt in Honduras, when he realized he’d been set up, wondering if his kid would grow up thinking his dad was a traitor, all because of the choice he’d made, for his family’s sake. Wondering if he’d hurt his son in trying to help him, help their family. _He won’t stop until he does._

* * *

**SOMEWHERE ELSE IN MONTENEGRO**

**FORMER LOCATION OF JACK’S TASKFORCE’S HQ**

* * *

‘…based on all recorded ghost orchid locations and assuming that Kovac didn’t travel by plane or chopper, this is the search radius.’

Riley pointed at the area of southern Montenegro, near the Albanian border, enclosed in a red circle on her laptop screen.

Bozer turned to Desi, Mac and Matty.

‘Okay, so if you were a really-good-at-being-bad terrorist leading a super-secret terrorist cell being chased by some really-good-at-being-good good guys and holding some really badass guys hostage, where would you set up your lair in that circle?’

* * *

‘...according to what these Montenegrin geocachers, orienteers and history buffs have posted on their forums, this old farmhouse is a nexus for an entire tunnel network.’

Riley brought up a photo of an old, but sturdy-looking farmhouse, and a map showing its location on her laptop.

Bozer leaned closer to take a better look.

‘It’s right in the middle of the search radius.’

Riley’s fingers clacked on her keyboard for a moment, and she brought up a live satellite feed.

‘Looks like we’ve got activity…’

There were what looked like fresh tyre tracks leading into one of the barns. Switching to thermal imaging gave them nothing, however.

Mac pursed his lips.

‘Blocking thermal imaging inside a building isn’t that difficult; they probably put up some bricks…’ He gestured at Riley’s laptop screen. ‘Ri, can you bring up the live feed again? And a map of the farmhouse and the tunnels, if you can.’

A few keystrokes, and the live feed was on the left, and the requested maps overlaid on the right.

Mac studied them for a moment, as did Desi, before he nodded.

‘It’s the best location for Kovac to set up.’

Desi nodded in agreement.

‘Tunnels probably explain why he’s been able to get around undetected.’ She tapped the main farmhouse’s west side. ‘Prisoners should be here.’

Mac nodded in agreement.

‘Which means we need to be there, in position, when the tac-team launches the assault.’

Bozer glanced between the feed and the maps.

‘How? If we approach by car or chopper, Kovac’s gonna see us coming, but he’s gotta have guards and cameras in the tunnels…’

Riley leaned forward, fingers resting on her keyboard.

‘Leave the cameras to me.’

Mac’s thinking-face appeared for a moment.

‘And I’ve got an idea for the guards.’ He gave a good attempt at a wry little smile, at bringing a little light into the darkness. ‘But Matty’s probably not going to like the bill.’

Matty’s voice sounded out through Riley’s phone, through video-call.

‘If it brings our boy home, Blondie, you’re forgiven.’

* * *

_They say every cloud has a silver lining._

_I am not sold on that, but Mason drugging me with BZ definitely had a silver lining._

_You could say it inspired me, at least._

_We need to take out Kovac’s guards in the tunnels quickly and quietly, and methoxyflurane, another well-known incapacitating agent, is just the molecule for the job._

* * *

**SOUTHERN MONTENEGRO**

**(VERY CLOSE TO ALBANIA)**

**(ALSO VERY CLOSE TO ONE OF THE FEW KNOWN HABITATS OF THE GHOST ORCHID)**

* * *

‘…you know, Omar, man, I been meaning to ask you…whaddya think it’d take to make Judy forgive me for the Jell-O Incident?’

Jack, in a world of pain, nonetheless turned to his Delta buddy, asked like he would if they were fishing or at a sports bar or playing poker in Vegas. Around the cell, the rest of their brothers variously gave grins and snorts through their own pain.

‘She’s never gonna forgive you, brother. You know how she is with her granny’s linens…’

‘So saving your life a couple times, grovelling and some of Belgian’s finest ain’t gonna do it?’

‘Nope.’

* * *

**LITTLE-KNOWN TUNNEL ENTRANCE**

**SIX MILES AWAY**

* * *

Mac, Desi and Riley, all in bulletproof vests and gas masks borrowed from the Montenegrin tac-team, stuck their heads into the tunnel’s entrance.

(After much argument, Bozer was staying behind in the tac-team’s mobile command centre to run comms and intel.)

They pulled their heads back, and Mac tossed the first of his many methoxyflurane grenades into the tunnel. It detonated, they waited thirty seconds as Mac counted, and then headed down. Desi had the assault rifle she’d borrowed from the tac-team at the ready, her own weapon at her hip. Riley held Desi’s own backup with confidence and ease that Mac knew she’d worked hard on, and Jack had trained her well in. He himself was armed with his methoxyflurane grenades, a half-dozen flash-bangs, a Taser and a large flashlight borrowed from the tac-team, who all thought he was nuts.

(They probably didn’t think he understood Serbian.)

* * *

As they got into position, ready to breach the trapdoor into what should be just outside the presumably-makeshift cell Kovac was keeping his prisoners in, Mac and Riley exchanged a glance.

Fear and worry and nerves and _hope_ were all apparent.

Then, Riley gave a shaky little smile.

‘He’s Jack Dalton.’

Mac returned that.

‘He’s more badass than two John McClanes.’

‘He survived a tiger-bear.’

‘And has punched at least fifteen sharks.’

Another nod and slightly-less-shaky little smiles, and then, they both nodded at Desi.

‘Alpha team in position, beta, gamma, go!’

Mac flung the trapdoor open.

* * *

As the guards started shouting, Jack and his squad glanced around at each other, moving as best as they could, getting ready, grim smiles on their faces.

A rescue attempt, no matter how well thought-out, might not end well for them. They’d learned that the hard way.

But it was _hope,_ and Deltas never went down without a fight.

‘Hoo-rah!’

* * *

Seconds later, there were four loud thumps, and the cell door opened, to reveal Mac, followed by Riley. Desi stayed at the door, keeping guard, and Jack couldn’t help but grin, wide, like a madman.

Mac rushed over to him, looking impossibly relieved, a look Riley shared, crouching to get at the manacles, hands moving quickly as he tried to shoot Jack a _look._ Given the sheer joy and relief on his face, it didn’t really work.

‘ _Cairo_ , really?’

Jack grinned even wider.

‘Great to see you too, son. Knew you’d get it!’

* * *

Riley shot one of Kovac’s men in the knee, then ducked to avoid the blow that a second who’d lost his weapon swung at her, moving around him, and then taking him out with the Vulcan nerve pinch she’d learned from Leanna. At her side, Desi shot a man who was trying to shoot Riley, grabbed a second by the collar, pulled him down so that his stomach met her knee painfully, shot a man over his shoulder, then tossed him backwards, kicking him under the chin as he fell to the ground.

Meanwhile, Fitzy, Lanier and Deacon fought side-by-side, forming a protective circle of sorts around Worthy and Munoz, who were more badly wounded. Next to them, Mac and Jack moved as if they’d never been apart, Jack punching out the lights of one of Kovac’s minions, stealing his gun, and shooting the man that Mac had just kicked the legs out from under of, as his partner jumped up, flicking a second man in the face with his belt, sending him reeling and giving Worthy an opening to shoot him, tossing a flash-bang at a group of three terrorists in the same breath, allowing Fitzy and Deacon to take them out easily.

Even with the tac-team, they were outnumbered.

And it seemed that Kovac, the wily SOB, was nowhere to be found.

* * *

‘…just like Tashkent, eh, brother?’

Jack handed out a couple knuckle sandwiches, then grabbed the third terrorist that Mac had sent his way. Mac, who’d just Tased one terrorist as he flicked a second in the face, hard, with his belt to send him reeling towards Jack, disagreed loudly.

‘You and I clearly remember Tashkent very differently!’

Jack just grinned as he shot a terrorist who was trying to tackle Mac in the shoulder, calling out to Desi as she roundhouse-kicked one terrorist _hard_ in the stomach, sending him into his buddies and turning them into easy prey for Dalton’s Heroes.

‘Whaddya say, Dez, shades of Arbil?’

Desi elbowed the man who’d tried to come up behind her in the gut, grabbed him, and threw him to the ground.

‘I’m with Mac!’

* * *

Minutes later, most of the bad guys had been taken out. Deacon, Lanier and Fitzy circled Munoz and Worthy, Lanier eyeing Munoz with concern, since he was practically swaying on his feet. Dalton’s Heroes were focused on picking off the men who occasionally popped out from various doorways and trapdoors, firing off a shot or two at them, before ducking back behind cover. The tac-team was working on taking them out, but it was slow going.

Riley was just pouncing on the back of a man who’d dropped his now-useless gun (Mac had done a number on it using something that involved a re-purposed flash-bang), while Desi was locked in a hand-to-hand fight with a man armed with a knife that was clearly under her control. Jack had a third terrorist in a headlock, while Mac had his belt wrapped around a fourth’s neck, cutting off his oxygen supply just enough to knock him out before letting him drop to the ground.

Suddenly, Jack heard two gunshots ring out behind him, practically on top of each other, and then, he felt a searing pain in his shoulder as a bullet went through it.

* * *

Mac’s eyes widened as the shots were fired, watching Desi as she fired into the rafters, at Kovac, whom none of them had noticed was there.

At Kovac, who’d had his gun aimed at Jack. Who, Mac could tell, in that brief half-second as Desi fired and hit him cleanly between the eyes and whirled back to re-engage the man with a knife she’d turned her back on to shoot, would have put a bullet through Jack’s brain if Desi hadn’t thrown off his aim at the last second.

Five bullets took out the man about to stab Desi before he could even touch her.

Deltas had quick reflexes. Very, very quick reflexes.

Kovac’s body toppled, falling to the ground, right between Jack and Desi.

Jack, meanwhile, clutching his shoulder, just shook his head and smiled at the woman, still breathing hard.

‘Guess I owe you now, Dez.’

Her returning smile, the look in her eyes, was as soft as any of them had ever seen her.

‘I’ll call that even.’

* * *

**A HOSPITAL**

**HOME SWEET LA**

* * *

Jack made a face as he dug into what passed for lunch.

No-one, in his opinion, liked orange Jell-O. Except Lanier, ‘cause he was weird.

Making a face, he set aside the Jell-O, making a mental note to get Boze to run it over to Lanier across the hall later.

It was _great_ to be home, but he hated being stuck in hospital eating hospital grub.

His mood brightened, however, as Mac, Riley and Bozer entered his hospital room, the former two carrying what looked like a laptop fused with a VCR (somehow…), the latter with a huge grin on his face and something very obviously behind his back.

As they reached Jack’s bed, Bozer grinned wider, and pulled out Jack’s OG _Die Hard_ tape.

‘Surprise!’

Jack grinned, wide and soft and full of love, and held out his good arm.

God, he’d missed these kids. So, so, so much.

‘Come here, kiddos.’

If his voice was a little choked with emotion, that was between them all. Family business.

Riley sat down on the chair nearest him, leaned closer so he could put his arm around her shoulders, hugging him back just as tightly.

Mac finished setting up the jury-rigged entertainment system, then took a seat next to Riley, leaning forward to bump his fist to Jack’s, and Bozer sat down on Jack’s other side after slotting the cassette into the VCR.

* * *

Twenty minutes into _Die Hard,_ Diane Davis walked into Jack’s hospital room, clutching her purse tightly and followed unobtrusively by Matty.

The taller woman looked pale and shaken, and the look of immense relief that crossed her face as she laid eyes on Jack (in a hospital gown in a hospital bed, banged up, but unmistakeably alive and _home_ ) was unmistakeable.

‘Jack...’

She walked over, slowly, like she was on some kind of autopilot, took the seat next to Jack’s bed that Bozer vacated with a murmured thanks, and just _stared._

Jack blinked a couple of times in surprise, then gave a crooked little grin that was also soft and schoolboy-ish.

‘Hey, Diane. Seems like you can’t get rid of me, eh?’

Riley smiled, soft and slow, and turned to Matty, who just smiled back at her.

* * *

Mac walked back to Jack’s room after paying visits to the rest of Dalton’s Heroes, who were all expected to make a full recovery. Thorpe had just showed up, along with the rest of their families, and Mac knew that even if he’d been declared ‘the new guy’, they wanted some time alone with their families.

As he approached, he saw Diane and Riley grinning mischievously, animatedly telling Matty a story that had their boss laughing, as Jack practically pouted with his arms crossed as best as he could manage.

Clearly, an embarrassing story about Jack.

Mac’s brows went up as Diane leaned over and pecked his cheek very gently in apology.

‘So _that’s_ Diane.’ Mac whirled around, to find Desi standing behind him, having apparently snuck up on him…somehow…while crunching on spicy ranch chips from a large bag in her hands. He arched an eyebrow at her, wondering how she knew about Diane, and Desi just gave that little smirk of hers. ‘Drinking contest, followed by Truth or Dare.’

Mac’s brow rose a little further ( _that_ was a story he really wanted to hear…), and he nodded.

‘Ah.’ There was a moment of silence that was probably awkward, but Desi didn’t seem to care or notice, continuing to eat her chips. ‘Um, I, uh, just wanted to tell you, Desi, that I’m sorry. For, um, well, ignoring the fact we had plans. Sorta-plans. You know, for, um, dinner, and, uh, upsetting you or offending you or…’

He trailed off.

_Great work, MacGyver. That was an excellent apology._

_Not._

_Yeah…social interaction is not my strong point, is it?_

_Especially when it comes to beautiful, intelligent and badass women…_

Given the way Desi was looking at him, head slightly tilted, arms crossed, eyebrow slightly arched, in a way that was definitely amused and slightly fond (he hoped, anyway), she agreed that he was definitely being really awkward.

‘You didn’t upset or offend me, Mac.’ Was he imagining things, or was there something almost apologetic in her tone of voice, in her eyes? Honestly, he had no idea with her half the time. Desi was a _puzzle._ She continued, tone blunt and unvarnished, but not cold or cutting either. ‘You were off your game. I was your partner, so I had to pick up the slack.’ Before Mac could say anything in response (a thank you, another apology, an inquiry into whether she was going to leave the Phoenix now that Jack was back…), Desi handed him the bag of spicy ranch chips. ‘Take that.’

And then, in the same breath, she just strode off, leaving a _very_ confused Mac standing there, holding a half-eaten bag of spicy ranch chips.

_I take that back._

_Desi’s not a puzzle. Not just a puzzle, anyway._

_She’s a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, to borrow Churchill’s words._

A moment later, Bozer walked up, his arms full of snacks. Mac’s best friend tilted his head to the side as he took in what Mac was holding and the look on his face.

‘Desi?’

Mac just nodded, running a hand through his hair and giving a befuddled shrug, turning to walk into Jack’s room.

‘Yup.’

Jack called out to him, making Mac grin easily, automatically.

‘Finally, brother, you’re late on the rescue and with the snacks!’

Mac smirked teasingly.

‘Two rescues in sixty hours? You must be getting old, old man!’

As a result, he missed the worried look that flitted across Bozer’s face.

* * *

Later, Jack smiled, soft and wide and slow and full of affection, as Riley rolled her eyes and muttered something about _men_ as Mac and Bozer tossed peanuts into each other’s mouths.

He turned to Matty, who was sitting in a chair next to him, also watching that scene, with, to his eyes, equal love and affection.

‘It’s good to be home.’

Matty nodded, and reached out and patted his arm.

‘It’s good to have you back, Jack.’


	2. Gain/Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple protection detail allows Mac and Jack to fall back into being partners. Meanwhile, Riley and Bozer conspire, and Desi is distant, leading to Mac worrying that she’s leaving the Phoenix.

**A RENTAL CAR**

**SAN FRANCISCO**

* * *

‘…just saying, brother, you coulda warned me!’ Jack, who was driving (he’d insisted), gestured at Mac, in the front passenger seat, with great annoyance. He then grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt and tugged. ‘Beetroot juice don’t come out!’

Mac looked incredulous.

‘A, I was otherwise occupied trying to stop the guy from _stabbing_ you, B, yes it will with my laundry powder, and C, your T-shirt is _black_. As usual.’

‘And this is exactly why I gotta wear stuff that don’t stain easy! ‘Cause I work with _you_ , brother; you’re a hazard!’ Jack tugged a fistful of his shirt again. ‘And the colour ain’t quite the same! ‘Sides, I ain’t using that laundry powder of yours; it turned all of Boze’s laundry pink!’

‘That was three versions ago; I fixed that problem!’

In the back seat, Desi, an eyebrow raised, turned to Riley.

‘You put up with this?’

Mac and Jack had been in rare form all day long. Desi and Riley had listened to their famous banter _all day long._

Riley shrugged, a wry, fond and exasperated look on her face.

‘You get used to it.’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Mac was just closing his locker after grabbing his wallet and ID when Desi walked into the locker room, presumably to do the same.

‘Hi.’

Desi arched an eyebrow slightly at him, but replied.

‘Hi.’

She walked over to her locker and keyed in the code. Mac, meanwhile, stood there awkwardly. Desi didn’t seem to be in the mood to make conversation, but on the other hand, it seemed rude to at least not wait for her to finish grabbing her stuff so they could walk out to the carpark together.

They were teammates and friends, after all.

‘So, uh, Boze is making burritos for dinner, so, um, sour cream, guac or pico de gallo, or a combination thereof?’

Inwardly, he kicked himself for being awkward.

 _MacGyver, you are a secret agent, which stereotypically means you should be suave, and you are eligible to join the MENSA, so absolutely should not be insipid. And you ask her about_ burrito preferences _out of the blue?_

Desi turned to face him.

‘Ranch, extra guac.’ Mac took a moment to process that, considering what ranch dressing might taste like on a burrito, and wondering why in the world Desi was so bizarrely obsessed with ranch. He liked it, like just about every other American (it had overtaken Italian as the best-selling dressing in the country in 1992), but Desi took it to a whole other level. Desi grabbed her phone and wallet, but didn’t close her locker. ‘But I’ve got errands to run, so…’

‘Would you like some help?’ That was his immediate response, and it was probably too quick…and too eager. It was clearly weird, because Desi arched her eyebrow slightly at him again. Mac smiled apologetically and sheepishly, but pressed on. ‘We’ll, uh, save you one if you want to drop by when you’re done; you’re always welcome…’

He trailed off again. Desi smiled, and closed her locker.

‘Thanks, but don’t wait up.’ She tossed a bag of spicy ranch chips that she must have pulled out of her locker at him as she left. ‘See you tomorrow, Mac.’

Mac reflexively caught the chips, and was left standing there, confused, holding a bag of spicy ranch chips and watching Desi go for the second time in a month.

He wouldn’t put it past Desi at all to keep spicy ranch chips in her locker, but at the same time, he couldn’t let go of the feeling that she’d put them there just to give them to him as her ‘contribution’, a token ‘I came, I saw, done’. It reminded him of her fulfilling the letter of her promise to Jack, but not the spirit, after her first mission.

Unfortunately, that had become more typical of Desi than atypical of her in the last month. Sometimes, it was like those days when she’d first joined the Phoenix, when all her walls were up and she was very, very prickly.

(Not that she’d ever been _without_ walls, or _not_ prickly. That would be just as disturbing, since she _was_ Desi.)

Mac sighed, running a hand through his hair and pushing away that sense of hurt.

(It was probably unreasonable; Desi didn’t owe him anything and certainly didn’t have to be friends with him or even friendly towards him at all as long as they could work together in the field. Besides, no matter what she’d said at the hospital, he _had_ been a bit of an ass towards her after _Charlie_ and _Mason_ and his _dad_ and when he’d thought Jack was _dead_.)

Chips in hand, he headed for the carpark to head home.

Bozer’s burritos never ceased to improve his mood, and they were even better with family.

* * *

**THE NEXT DAY**

**SAME PLACE**

* * *

‘…an Islamist terrorist organization originating from northern Cameroon has issued threats against the US ambassador to Cameroon in retaliation for US-Cameroon cooperation against them.’ Matty tapped her tablet, and an image of the ambassador, as well as a map of Cameroon, appeared on the big screen of the war room. She looked up at Mac, Jack, Desi, Bozer and Riley. ‘We have credible intel that they’re planning on striking while he’s attending the African Cup of Nations in Egypt, so I’m sending the five of you sent to assist his security team.’ Matty paused, gesturing with her tablet grasped between her hands. ‘They’re providing visible security, you’ll be heading undercover. We believe that they have highly-trained operatives skilled at evading detection and law enforcement, so I know protection detail at a soccer tournament might not be as high-adrenaline as usual, but I need your A-games.’

She swept her gaze over all of them, and they all nodded seriously, except Jack, who instead made a noise of protest.

‘Hey, why’re you looking at me, Matty?’

Their boss put her hands on her hips.

‘I looked at _everybody_ , Jack.’

‘She did.’ Jack turned to his partner, who simply put up his hands placatingly. ‘It’s a fact.’

‘You’re my partner! You’re supposed to be on my side!’

Jack stomped exaggeratedly over to the door, followed by Mac, who was rolling his eyes.

Riley, Bozer and Matty exchanged a glance, and fond, wry smiles. Everything was back to normal.

As the three of them headed out of the war room to gear up, Riley leaned over to talk to Desi.

‘You really do get used to it.’ She paused, expression growing more wry. ‘Eventually.’

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN**

**ON-ROUTE TO EGYPT**

* * *

‘…and then, he swoops in on a jetpack and saves her and they get to live happily ever after!’

In the ‘Batcave’, Riley raised an eyebrow at Bozer, as the latter enthusiastically detailed his plan for setting up Jack and Diane.

(They’d all seen those looks and little touches and smiles while Jack had been recovering, knew what they meant.)

(Except maybe Mac, because Mac was distracted trying to solve the puzzle of Desi’s behaviour of late.)

‘Bozer, are you really suggesting we put my mom in a life-threatening situation just so Jack can rescue her-‘

‘It wouldn’t _actually_ be life-threatening; it’d just _look_ that way…’ Bozer trailed off, looking sheepish, as Riley crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow further. ‘Yeah…I didn’t really think that one through.’

Riley nodded, as if to say, _no kidding,_ before speaking.

‘When I asked for help _encouraging_ Jack and my mom, I was really thinking more inviting her over to you and Mac’s place for charades or Truth or Dare or poker and occasionally leaving them alone, not re-enacting movies, Boze.’

It was a little pointed, but also affectionately teasing.

Bozer grinned a touch sheepishly, then reached out to bump his fist to Riley’s.

‘You got it, sister.’ He paused. ‘But can I still do the s’mores thing? _Please_?’

Riley shook her head, a long-suffering, affectionately exasperated gesture, but laughed and nodded.

‘Yes, you can do the s’mores thing…’

Bozer actually whooped and did a fist-pump.

* * *

‘…bottom line, brother, they were gonna eat ‘em! I don’t care ‘bout the fancy, schmancy sacrifice thing, they had ‘em spitted and ready to BBQ!’

‘But prior to that, they clearly had intentions to conduct a sacrifice ritual, and furthermore, eating sacrifices after the, well, sacrificing bit is common to all sorts of societies that perform said sacrifices-‘

‘Oh, you are not getting all anther-poe-logy on me, man!’

‘ _Anthropology_ , Jack. You mean anthropology. Anthers are the pollen-containing portion of the male reproductive organ of angiosperms, and Poe was either a well-known poet or a character in _Star Wars_ …never mind.’ Jack was giving him _that_ look, the _brother, I didn’t ask for a college class_ look. ‘The point is, this entire question is based around establishing an anthropological understanding of Ewok society!’

Jack stubbornly crossed his arms, then turned to call out to Desi, sitting on the other end of the jet, reading a surfing magazine and apparently ignoring them completely.

‘Hey, Dez, whaddya think? _Return of the Jedi,_ were those Ewoks eating Luke and friends, or were they sacrificing ‘em? Come on, settle this for us, will you?’

Desi looked up from her magazine.

‘Honestly, I don’t care. _At all_.’

The last two words were said with a great deal of emphasis, and without even waiting for a response, she returned to her surfing magazine, ignoring them once more.

Jack spluttered.

‘Oh, come on, how can you not care about _Star Wars?_ It’s _Star Wars!_ Right, brother?’

Jack turned to Mac, who looked worried and a bit confused and a touch hurt. He’d pulled a paperclip from his pocket and was doing something to the poor, innocent bit of wire.

Internally, Jack sighed.

* * *

Mac understood why Desi had been, well, cold, distant and, in his opinion, excessively business-like when he’d been distracted, after Charlie and Mason and his dad’s truth, and when he’d thought the worst had happened to Jack.

(At least, he thought he did. She _had_ told him, but Desi _was_ hard to read.)

But ever since Jack had returned, she’d been acting, well, like she had when she’d first started working at the Phoenix, prickly and brusque and professional and honestly distant.

It’d felt like she was pulling away from them.

 _Pulling away from him,_ a voice in his head whispered.

* * *

Jack sighed internally again, watching Desi, focused on her surfing mag, and Mac, focused on his paperclip and staring out the window, probably naming the types of clouds or something like that.

His boy was earnest and genuine and, Jack knew, deep down, desperately wanted that white-picket-fence happy ending, and God knew, he had way too many issues about people getting hurt because of him (which could only have gotten worse thanks to one Elliot Mason) that made finding the Lois Lane to his Superman and building a stable, happy relationship with her very, very difficult.

And Dez…well, Jack knew her story. He’d lived part of her story. That was a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare or Ancient Greeks or _The Titanic_ if he remembered English class properly.

He’d always worried that how repressed she was, those walls she forced herself to keep up, those lines she kept drawing and holding, would lead to her hurting herself and someone she found herself caring an awful lot about one day.

(That was why he’d twisted her arm to get that promise, after all, hoping that breaking down those walls bit by bit would defuse that ticking time bomb. He hadn’t realized he’d just pressed the button on the detonator.)

* * *

**CAIRO INTERNATIONAL STADIUM**

**CAIRO**

* * *

‘…I’m telling you, man, this is giving me the heebie-jeebies…’ Jack leaned over to talk to his partner as the two of them filed into their seats for the opening ceremony of the African Cup of Nations. ‘You know how I feel ‘bout Cairo!’

Mac rolled his eyes as he pulled out his binoculars, supposedly for getting a better view of the ceremony (and assumedly games later), since they were in the nosebleed section.

‘Cairo Day, Cairo Week and Cairo itself are not cursed, Jack, because _there is no such thing_ as curses.’

With that, Mac raised his binoculars, adjusting the knobs to focus on the VIP box, where the Ambassador, Riley and Desi were.

(Bozer was back at the makeshift HQ they’d set up in a hotel room nearby, liaising with Matty and keeping an eye on intel.)

Jack just crossed his arms.

‘Wait and see, brother, wait and see…and when it happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

* * *

**FOUR HOURS LATER**

* * *

‘…I told you so!’

Mac rolled his eyes as he heard his partner’s voice ring out behind him, as the two of them chased after the man who’d accosted the Ambassador as he’d left the stadium.

(Mac and Jack had lingered at a koshary stand, Mac pretending to eat, Jack actually eating, waiting for the Ambassador’s exit. Departing the stadium was, they all knew, a vulnerable time.)

(And lo and behold, a man had bumped into the Ambassador, apologized and walked off. When he noticed Mac and Jack following him, he’d started running.)

Desi’s voice rang out over their earpieces.

‘The Ambassador’s secure, and he’s fine. No sign of any puncture wounds.’ Poison, they all knew, was the most likely method of assassination given how the man had brushed against him. ‘No symptoms.’ She paused. ‘He’s missing his wallet; this was either intel gathering or he’s just a pickpocket.’

‘Got it.’ Mac pushed himself a little harder and jumped over a table set up in the street next to a food vendor’s cart, startling the family sitting there and enjoying their own koshary. He called out an apology in Arabic as he kept running. ‘Asif aismah li!’

He gave a wry little smile as Jack jumped over the table too, startling the poor family again.

‘Sorry, coming through!’

* * *

Ten minutes later, the pickpocket stumbled as he ran down the alleyway, as he found his ankles suddenly tied together by a bola made of some old rope and a couple of bottles of pomegranate molasses.

Mac finally caught up to the man, and untangled his legs, as Jack, puffing slightly (he wasn’t quite back to tip-top condition yet), caught up with his partner.

The older man only had to lean down and grab the pickpocket’s collar menacingly before the man held out the Ambassador’s wallet, looking utterly terrified.

‘Please, take it back! I’m giving it back! I’m sorry, please don’t kill me!’

Jack plucked the wallet out of his hands, then released his clothing, and keeping an eye on the cowering thief, addressed his partner.

‘Doesn’t seem like the terrorist type, does he?’

Mac crouched down by the man, securing his wrists with the length of rope, just in case.

(Intel had said that there were highly-trained terrorist operatives involved. The cowering pickpocket could just be an act.)

‘We’re not going to kill you.’

He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the man to send to Riley to see what she could dig up.

Still, his gut agreed with Jack.

* * *

‘…he’s not on any watchlists, and there’s nothing in our intel that suggests he’s working with the terrorists.’

Riley’s voice rung out over Mac and Jack’s earpieces, followed by Bozer’s.

‘On the other hand, there’s multiple social media posts by people accusing him of stealing people’s wallets, so…’

Desi continued, summing it all up.

‘He’s a pickpocket, so you can turn him over to local PD.’

In the alleyway, Mac and Jack nodded.

‘Will do.’

Jack smirked teasingly, and elbowed his partner, gesturing with his head towards the two bottles of pomegranate molasses.

‘And you’d better go pay for those, or you’re gonna wind up going with this guy, and I love you, man, but a man’s got his limits, and prison break in this town’s it…’

‘ _Why_? There was no prison break or prison of any kind involved in Cairo!’

* * *

**HOTEL ROOM**

**CAIRO**

* * *

Bozer flung his hands up in the air as they listened to Mac and Jack’s earpiece feeds.

‘Seriously, _what happened_ in Cairo?’

Riley shrugged, but patted Bozer on the shoulder comfortingly. She glanced over at Desi, and noticed something in the other woman’s eyes that she couldn’t quite read.

Regret, perhaps? Something a touch sad?

That vanished quickly, replaced by something that could only be called resolute, and then it was gone, back behind unreadable focus.

‘Annoy Mac and Jack for it later, Bozer, but trust me, you’re not going to get it out of them.’ Desi turned her earpiece back on, changing the frequency to the Ambassador’s security team’s. ‘Status update on the Ambassador?’

* * *

The next day, Mac and Jack walked back into the hotel room, followed by Desi. Mac had straw in his hair, while Jack’s boots were dirtied with something that was brown and stinky. There was so much of it that Matty was definitely going to have to pay a cleaning surcharge. Desi had some kind of wet, sticky and slightly smelly substance in her hair and did _not_ look happy about it.

‘...brother, did you really have to do that?’

‘It was the best way to maintain our line of sight to the Ambassador without blowing our cover!’

‘And you didn’t consider in that big brain of yours that the camels wouldn’t like that?’

‘I’m not exactly an expert on dromedaries!’

‘Well, you should be!’

Desi just crossed her arms as Bozer and Riley looked between the bickering partners like spectators at a tennis match, heading for the bathroom, but not before shooting them a _look._

‘Don’t ask.’

* * *

‘…Good news everyone!’

Bozer grinned at Mac, Jack and Desi, who were all changed into fresh clothes and had had a shower. Desi and Mac were still towelling off their hair, having removed the camel saliva and straw respectively.

Matty, on Riley’s laptop screen, continued, after shooting Bozer a look that made him look a touch sheepish.

‘Tonight, the Ambassador will be attending a party thrown by a very successful Egyptian businessman in the Le Riad Hotel de Charme. Mac, Jack, Desi, you will pose as guests to keep an eye on the Ambassador on the ground, while Bozer and Riley monitor the situation from your hotel room.’

Bozer rubbed his hands together in a way that could only be described as gleeful, though he did seem to be trying to contain it, since he was at work and all, and this was a situation that could be life-threatening for the Ambassador.

(Bozer had never been particularly good at that.)

He turned to face his best friend, Jack and Desi, pointing at the three of them.

‘Which means we’re going to crack out the good stuff Wardrobe sent!’

Jack made a grumbling sound, crossing his arms.

‘Great, monkey suits.’ He pointed at Bozer. ‘Wardrobe fix that size issue they had? Pants they sent me last time were too tight to be a forty regular!’

Everyone else exchanged amused glances with plenty of raised eyebrows.

Matty put her hands on her hips and looked pointedly at Jack.

‘Oh, they definitely sent a forty regular, Dalton. Might be time to face up to reality…’

Mac smirked teasingly and clapped his partner on the shoulder.

‘It’s perfectly normal for a middle-aged man, Jack.’

He got a _look_ back in response, which only made him smirk a little wider.

Desi, meanwhile, grabbed the pair of heels in her size that Wardrobe had sent, and held them up by the ankle straps.

‘And if you’re going to complain about doing missions in a monkey suit…try doing it in heels.’

Riley pointed at her and nodded in agreement.

Mac studied the heels Desi was holding for a moment.

‘You know, I think I can make those more comfortable and improve the balance…’

She tossed them to Mac with one of her little smiles.

‘Be my guest.’

Mac smiled back at her, much wider, and pulled out his Swiss Army knife, studying the heels more closely.

* * *

Mac was in the middle of finishing off his modifications to Desi’s shoes, already in his tux, when she walked out of the bathroom, in a rich purple dress that was very, very flattering. As they were in Egypt, Wardrobe had sent her a dress with three-quarter sleeves, and it skimmed and suggested her figure rather than hugging it, in a way that managed to actually be more…intriguing…than something more revealing.

He barely managed to avoid dropping the shoe he was holding, which made Desi quirk an eyebrow at him.

(He actually dropped it, but managed to catch it in time.)

‘Uh, right, yes, almost done.’ Mac smiled, probably stupidly, and held up the shoe he’d just caught. ‘Just need to…’

He tried to focus back on the heels. What had he been doing again?

* * *

Meanwhile, Jack and Bozer, the latter helping the former with his bow tie, exchanged a worried glance as Mac’s brain very noticeably turned to mush.

(Jack also noted how had Desi quirked an eyebrow at Mac, had had a hint of a teasing smile on her face, before mentally giving herself a little shake and stepping away to the desk in the corner where Bozer had stashed the makeup and hair products Wardrobe had sent, turning her back on his partner.)

They remembered, very clearly, the last woman who’d turned Mac’s brain to mush.

They remembered the fallout very, very clearly too.

Internally, Bozer sighed.

He’d probably been exaggerating when he’d told Riley that Mac’s brain went on vacation _whenever_ his heart got involved.

(It hadn’t with Penny – though since that lasted only twenty-six days, and ended with them deciding they were just friends, Bozer wasn’t sure it counted. It couldn’t have with Frankie, or surely she would have _noticed_ Mac being completely gone for her…and besides, if Mac’s brain had gone fishing every time they’d hung out, Bozer didn’t think their friendship – which was conducted in a language that he couldn’t understand most of the time – would have actually lasted, or become such a close one. Bozer was pretty sure it had to be a similar case with Allie – Mac tended to see the best in people and be a bit too trusting even when his brain was fully operational; besides, Allie hadn’t exactly ‘seduced him to see the plans’, more ‘seduced him because she really liked him too…and then hadn’t been able to resist a sneak peek’. It hadn’t with Nasha, either, as far as Bozer had been able to tell.)

(It definitely _affected_ his brain, but then again, it’d be more worrying if it _didn’t._ But it wasn’t so much turning to mush as…well, a bit of a distraction leading to a slight loss in processing power and download speed?)

(He was spending too much time with Riley, clearly.)

But unfortunately, he had to stand by the rest of what he’d said.

Desi was making his BFF’s brain turn to mush, and that was something that none of them could afford.

(It hurt, and he felt bad for even thinking it, because since he was eleven years old, all Bozer had wanted was for Angus MacGyver – who had already lost and suffered so much – to be happy, because if anyone deserved it, it was his BFF.)

(But ever since Mac’s secret had been revealed to him, Bozer had realized something.)

(That Mac being happy wasn’t his biggest priority, not anymore.)

(Mac couldn’t be happy if he were _dead_.)

* * *

**LE RIAD HOTEL DE CHARME**

**THE SWANKIEST PARTY IN TOWN TONIGHT**

**CAIRO**

* * *

‘…just saying, I’m happy to take one for the team and stake out that area.’

Jack indicated the buffet table. Mac looked exasperatedly at his partner.

‘You ate a large quantity of food an hour and a half ago. Your daily nutritional requirements have already been met.’

Jack had eaten an entire serve of koshary, plus a third of Mac’s, since Mac had been too busy improving Desi’s heels and then memorizing a map of the hotel to properly eat.

(Besides, self-care wasn’t Mac’s strong point, especially not when he was distracted by something or the other, which was admittedly often. Hence Bozer being an expert in what he called the care and feeding of Angus MacGyver, since he’d been doing it for most of his life.)

Jack shot Mac a _look._

‘Protection detail’s hungry work!’

Mac was just about to roll his eyes and shake his head again when they were interrupted by Desi’s voice over their earpieces.

(She was focused on the job, pretending to listen to some surely-boring guy in a suit who was positioned perfectly so as to give her a near-perfect view of the Ambassador, smiling and nodding along to his monologue.)

(Desi wasn’t particularly gifted at undercover work – she was certainly nothing like, say, Cage, who’d have had the boring suit guy eating out of her hand within minutes – but the _I wish I was anywhere but here, but I can’t get out of this_ smiling and nodding she was doing weren’t going to give her away either; Mac was sure that many a person, and many a woman in particular, had had that look on their face while listening to the man drone.)

She raised her napkin to her lips to elegantly, delicately (in a way that was very _not_ Desi) pat her lips clean after eating a mini quiche, and used that as cover to mutter out of the corner of her mouth to Mac and Jack.

‘Woman in the east corner, green dress, hasn’t taken her eyes off the Ambassador.’

Mac’s eyes scanned the room, pretending to search for a friend, and deliberately not lingering on said woman, while Jack grabbed a couple more hors d’oeuvres from a circulating waiter and stuffed them in his mouth.

(That earned him disgusted looks, drawing attention to him – and away from his partner – while Mac kept an eye on the woman.)

(It was also delicious, and helped a bit with his grumbling stomach, so it was win-win.)

* * *

**HOTEL ROOM**

**CAIRO**

* * *

‘…we can do a little _Parent Trap,_ right? You know, since it’s a _classic,_ and, I mean, it’s so appropriate!’

‘Boze, I don’t think re-creating Mom and Jack’s first date counts as _just a little_ bit of _The Parent Trap._ ’

Bozer waved a hand as if to say, _pshaw, that’s just a minor detail._ Riley raised an eyebrow at him in response and kept typing, then spoke into her earpiece.

‘…okay, guys, I don’t think we need to worry about the woman in green; she’s an aide to the British ambassador to Egypt and she’s got an, uh, reputation in diplomatic circles…’

* * *

**LE RIAD HOTEL DE CHARME**

**CAIRO**

* * *

‘Dance with me.’

As the Ambassador made his way onto the dance floor with another diplomat, Desi circled subtly over to Mac, and whispered the order at him.

(It was unmistakeably an order.)

He smiled, and held out his hand to her as if asking her to dance. Desi smiled back at him, ducked her head a little, and reached out and took it, and they made their way onto the floor.

* * *

As they circled the floor at a sedate pace (this was very much an occasion for waltzing), Desi smiled up at Mac, soft and gentle and fond and a little flirty, and she leaned up a little to whisper in his ear, tangling her fingers in his hair.

‘Guy in a caterer’s uniform’s sweating, at your four o’clock.’

She slowly rotated them around, and Mac smiled and laughed as he studied the man, steering the two of them over closer so they could get a better look.

Even as his brain took in everything he could about the caterer, another part of his brain was focused on something that was definitely not mission-related.

Desi’s behaviour of late _shouldn’t_ have been jarring; she was _Desi_ , she was professional and one of the best in the game, she was focused and intense and brusque and prickly and not prone to oversharing. How quickly her walls could go up and down gave him whiplash, sometimes.

But…his mind couldn’t help but bring up certain memories, of the time they’d chatted easily and teasingly about all the stupid things they’d done, of the time she’d shown up at his place in that red lace dress and those perfectly-balanced aerodynamic earrings, of her singing to him in Vietnamese at the top of that electricity tower, sitting around his fire-pit drinking beer, the way she’d smiled at him when they’d made those half-plans _before…_

It certainly shouldn’t _hurt_. Or _confuse_ him, or make him worried or even a little _scared_ , that she was going to leave them, that he was going to lose a new friend, a new member of his family, a new…well, potentially something _more_ , he thought.

(Desi was hard to read, and he was terrible with women in the first place.)

(Nasha had had to kiss him in her schoolhouse after he’d fixed the roof – again - for him to finally be certain he wasn’t projecting his own feelings onto her.)

(He was so, so glad that Jack was back, of course, but he hadn’t thought it was a zero-sum game, that getting Jack back would mean that Desi left, given how well she’d settled into the Phoenix, how good she was at her job, how valuable her skill-set was, the fact she’d already established a rapport with them. Her on the team could only help, not hinder.)

And her odd (or not so odd) behaviour certainly shouldn’t _distract_ him that much, he admonished himself, and _focused._

The caterer pulled off one of his gloves with a noise of annoyance, rubbing at his hand.

His skin was stained bright orange-yellow, which immediately caused alarm bells to start ringing in Mac’s head.

He ducked his head to whisper in Desi’s ear.

‘He’s been handling TNT.’

At that moment, with a glance around that _wasn’t suspicious in the slightest_ (not), the caterer disappeared through a service door.

Desi and Mac waited the requisite few seconds, continuing to dance and stare into each other’s eyes, so as not to arouse suspicion, before Desi gave a seductive little smile and tugged on Mac’s tie.

‘Let’s blow this joint.’

He smirked back at her, then took her hand and led her towards the service door.

‘Jack…’

‘Got it, I’ll take the back.’

* * *

**TEN MINUTES LATER**

* * *

The good news was that this time wasn’t a case of mistaken identity, and the caterer was definitely a terrorist. He was also unconscious on the floor with his hands restrained with Jack’s belt.

Facial recognition hadn’t caught him earlier, despite the fact that he was a known member of the terrorist group threatening the Ambassador, because he’d had a nose job.

A black market, botched nose job, judging by the sound of his breathing.

(It was way worse than Riley’s snoring.)

The bad news was how they knew all that, because there was a bomb underneath a catering cart.

‘Brother?’

‘Mac?’

Jack and Desi spoke at the same time. In response, the blonde dove under the cart, pulling out his Swiss Army knife as he did.

‘Do we need to evacuate the hotel?’

‘Cross all our fingers and toes and pray?’ Desi shot Jack a _look._ Jack shrugged, then pointed at Mac. ‘You mean he hasn’t pulled one of his really, really Hail Mary Hail Marys’ yet?’

‘Nope, nope, and nope, thankfully.’ Mac scooted back out from under the catering cart, holding a bomb component between forefinger and thumb. He pressed a finger to his earpiece. ‘The device is neutralized.’

Jack turned to Desi again.

‘Told you my boy’s the best!’

Desi nodded at that, a little smile on her face.

The moment was interrupted by Bozer and Riley’s voices in tandem over their comms.

‘Guys…’

‘…the Ambassador’s down.’

* * *

Jack, Desi and Mac ran through the service corridor, back towards the ballroom, listening to Riley’s description of the suspect who’d apparently stabbed the Ambassador when they and the Ambassador’s security team had been distracted by the terrorist impersonating a caterer.

‘…you’re looking for a tall, dark-skinned man about six feet, early forties, in a long, loose shirt and pants, black with red and yellow embroidery, matching hat.’ Riley paused, her voice growing more grim. ‘The Ambassador’s not looking good; ambulance and paramedics are on-route, but…’

The three of them exchanged a glance, and quickly came to a decision as they reached a fork in the service corridor.

Mac peeled off to head back to the ballroom, while Jack and Desi continued to pursue the suspect.

Jack put his finger to his earpiece.

‘Ri, which way he’d go?’

* * *

Mac skidded into the ballroom and immediately hurried over to the Ambassador, who was surrounded by his security team. They let him through, and he crouched down next to the Ambassador, taking in the broken wineglass stem, bloodied, next to the prone man, the blood seeping out between the fingers of the member of the security team trying to keep pressure on the wound in his neck, the position of the wound, how the Ambassador’s breaths were shallow and rapid, how his skin looked far too pale. Gravely concerned, Mac reached out to take his pulse, and found his skin to be too cold and clammy, pulse far too weak.

He raised his head and looked up at the nearest guard.

‘I need your weapon.’

Without hesitation (Matty had briefed them, and he knew the situation was desperate for his boss), the man handed over his gun, and Mac quickly discharged the magazine and pulled out a couple of bullets, addressing the Ambassador as his hands moved to take the bullets apart.

‘I’m sorry, sir, this is going to hurt, but I have to cauterize the wound or…’ Mac swallowed as he extracted the gunpowder from one of the bullets. ‘…or you’ll bleed out before medics can get here.’

Mac pulled off his tie with a hand, wadded it up and as gently and efficiently as he could, placed it in the Ambassador’s mouth for him to bite down on.

* * *

‘God damn it, how many service corridors does this place have?’ Jack grumbled as he and Desi sprinted through the hotel’s bowels, still pursuing the Ambassador’s assailant. ‘I hate monkey suits!’

Desi shot him a _look._

‘Next time, you can wear the heels!’

* * *

As soon as Mac finished cauterizing the Ambassador’s stab wound, he raised his hand to his earpiece.

‘Ri, Boze, the Ambassador should be stable, the blood loss has stopped…’

‘Ambulance is ten minutes out, Mac.’

‘But Desi and Jack could probably do with some help; suspect’s heading for an exit that’s just a block from a marketplace…’

If he got into there, they’d never find him again; he’d lose them in the crowd.

Riley kept typing frantically.

‘I’m trying to lock down the hotel, but it’s something like six ancient systems…’

Mac nodded, jumping to his feet.

‘Alright, I know that exit, Jack, Desi, I’m going to try and stop him from getting out, but I need you two to slow him down…’

* * *

‘…How’re we gonna do that, Dez?’

They couldn’t catch up to him, he had too much of a head start and he was really, really fast. Jack and Desi just managed to keep within fifty feet of the man.

There were enough twists and turns in the corridors to make shooting the suspect pretty much impossible without risking losing touch with him completely.

Desi’s response was very dry.

‘Improvise.’

(She was really one for plans, but she’d come to appreciate Mac’s approach over the last few months.)

They sprinted past a laundry room, and Desi took a detour to grab a laundry cart.

She shoved it out in front of her, and leapt into the cart as momentum carried it forward, calling out to Jack.

‘Give me a push!’

* * *

Desi, still balanced in the laundry cart, had the Ambassador’s assailant in a headlock, forcing him to drag the cart behind him as she cut off his air supply. Just as she felt him start to go limp in her grasp, the cart hit a tripwire, sending both her and the suspect flying.

He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, having dropped unconscious just as they hit the tripwire, while she rolled to disperse the impact, coming up into a crouch.

Just as she did, a net dropped from the ceiling onto her, and a second after that, a very sheepish-looking Mac, who was holding a length of rope with a hook on the end that he presumably planned to use to contain the would-be assassin in the net, emerged from around the corner.

Desi shot him a _look_ as she flung the net off, and he raised a shoulder apologetically, looking even more sheepish, mouthing ‘sorry’ at her as they moved to secure the net’s intended target, Desi securing his hands, while Mac searched him for weapons, just as Jack finally rounded the corner, having finally caught up.

He flung his hands up in the air.

‘Aww, come on, I missed it?’

Mac shook his head and smiled.

He’d really, really missed the big lug.

* * *

When the would-be assassin woke up, blinking at the brightness of the lighting in the corridor, Jack was standing over him, looking intimidating, with Mac and Desi on either side. The latter had her weapon drawn and aimed at him, while the former was still holding his hook-on-a-string like he knew how to use it.

(At this point, Jack was convinced that his boy knew how to use _everything_ , including for at least half-a-dozen off-label uses.)

‘You know, buddy, I gotta give it to you, you and your terrorist pals came up with a pretty smart plan, distracting us with that bomb while you made your sneaky move on the Ambassador.’

The man looked at Jack as if he were crazy, and protested.

‘What _bomb_? What _terrorist pals?_ I don’t know what you’re talking about; there wasn’t a plan, I saw an opening, and I took it.’

To their surprise, he spoke in a clear American accent. A Mid-West one to be precise.

Not what one would expect from a member of an Islamist organization from Cameroon not known to have any foreign fighters, or American links of any kind.

Mac, Jack and Desi exchanged a glance, Mac leaning over to speak quietly.

‘I…I believe him.’

Jack responded as Desi looked at the man again as if she was judging his weight.

‘Yeah…me too, brother.’

* * *

**HOTEL ROOM**

**CAIRO**

* * *

‘…the man who stabbed the Ambassador is John Nkwai. He’s the American-born son of two Cameroonian immigrants…’ Matty looked up at the team from Riley’s laptop screen, her tablet in hand. ‘…and he’s angry at the US government for failing to assist oppressed Anglophones, including his parents’ families, in Cameroon and assisting the Cameroonian government whom he believes is committing human rights atrocities against his people.’ The team exchanged a glance, one that Matty shared in. Geopolitics was complicated, to say the least, and sometimes, it seemed like every side had a point, had good reasons, but they, as operatives of the US government, couldn’t get into that. They’d stopped not one, but two, assassination attempts on the Ambassador, and they had to be happy with that. Matty smiled, tucking her laptop under her arm. ‘And I’ve just heard from the hospital and the Ambassador’s security team; he’s going to make a full recovery…’ Her expression grew wry. ‘But he’s unfortunately going to miss the rest of the Cup of Nations.’ Her eyes fell on Jack. ‘Your first mission back was a success, Jack. Congrats…and let’s try and keep it that way.’

Jack grinned back at her.

‘Hey, now that your best agent’s back in the house, Matty…’

She snorted, then signed off.

‘I’ll see you all when you get home.’

As Matty disappeared from screen, Jack held up his arms, looking around at the four younger agents.

‘Come on, team, into the huddle, don’t be shy, hands in the middle…’

There were eye-rolls and significant looks and head-shakes, but Bozer, Riley and Mac made their way into the huddle, putting their hands into a stack over Jack’s. Jack then shot Desi a pointed look.

She strode over, but quirked an eyebrow at him as she placed her hand on top of Mac’s.

‘Thought _you_ owed _me_ a Wookie life debt?’

Jack just grinned wider.

‘One, two, three, go Phoenix!’

* * *

**DESI’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

 

The day after they returned from Egypt, Mac walked up to Desi’s apartment’s front door, and hesitated before knocking.

Something was _off._ He wasn’t the best at reading people, and Desi was hard to read at the best of times, but something was definitely, definitely _off._

His grandpa had always said that most any problem – and any relationship problem – could be solved with a good conversation or two, so Mac had decided to start that conversation, even if it might be really awkward, and even if Desi might kill him and hide the body so well no-one ever found him.

(He was 99.99% sure she wouldn’t do that. She _was_ really hard to read.)

_Come on, MacGyver, you can’t chicken out now._

_If only because she has to know you’re here by now._

_Do you think Desi has anything but the very best of security systems?_

He raised his hand to knock, and a second later, the front door opened, revealing Desi.

‘Hi, Mac.’

She didn’t seem all that surprised to see him there, and stepped aside to let him in. Mac glanced around her apartment idly; he’d never been here before, and was admittedly very curious about what environment Desi lived in.

(He was usually curious, after all…and Desi was _fascinating. Intriguing.)_

It was rather sparsely furnished, and looked a bit like an IKEA display. Not quite lived in, though he supposed Desi would be obsessively neat.

There were also a couple of go-bags packed, two large duffles and one smaller one.

Mac’s brow furrowed, and his carefully-planned conversation starter went out the window.

‘Are you leaving? Now that Jack’s back in the field, I guess maybe you do have to get back to whatever you were doing, but…well, you always have a place at the Phoenix; you’re part of the family…I guess that’s why you’ve been, well…’

Desi waited until he trailed off, her arms crossed, a wry expression on her face that he swore was also fond.

‘I’m not leaving, Mac.’ Her voice was surprisingly soft and gentle when she said that. ‘I’m taking a mission for the Phoenix. Solo, timeline’s several months.’ That was back to something more usual for her, blunt, factual, no room for argument. There was silence for a moment, a little long, a little awkward, before Desi continued, voice softer and gentler and even a little hesitant or shy, _young_ and _vulnerable._ ‘As for the other thing…I don’t date co-workers.’

That was said very resolutely. Mac stared at her for a moment; it was the most explicit acknowledgement she’d made about the _connection_ between them. In fact, up until that point, Mac hadn’t actually been all that sure that she’d liked him too.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, wondering if he was pushing too far, too hard, but ultimately decided that he had to at least _say_ something, for both their sakes.

When you lived a life like they did, kept their secrets, looked death and danger in the eye at least once a week to save the world, to save innocents…holding yourself apart from the few you _could_ share it all with was…foolish, painful and just _terrible._ She shouldn’t feel she had to, and Mac didn’t want Desi to put herself through that. No-one should, and he really, really cared about her.

‘You…you said you didn’t make friends with co-workers either, and, well…’

He gestured vaguely. Desi swallowed, looked away from his eyes for a moment, then back at him, something very, very resolute, determined, stubborn in her gaze.

‘Some rules can be bent. Others can’t.’ She said it as if there was a story there, but one that she was absolutely not sharing, and probably never would. ‘Besides, it’d be a terrible idea.’ She paused, crossing her arms, pushing forward with the unvarnished truth. It was a very _Desi_ thing to do, which made his heartstrings twist a little. ‘In our line of work, distractions are dangerous, Mac. You don’t need me to tell you that.’ He gave a nod of acknowledgement, not really able to bring himself to speak, and not wanting to interrupt her either. ‘We’re good enough that one of us distracted and off our game is okay, but if both of us are…’ She tilted her chin up. ‘Someone will get killed.’ Either one of them, or a teammate, or a mark, or innocents, civilians. Her voice softened a little again, growing a little more vulnerable, open. ‘We came very close to that last month when you didn’t have your head in the game.’

That was definitely an admission.

Mac took a moment to process the implications of that, blinking a couple of times.

‘I…I had no idea I could affect you like that.’

That was entirely earnest. He really hadn’t had a clue.

Desi gave a little smile, slightly crooked.

She knew she was hard to read, and was grateful for it most of the time.

Mac, on the other hand, was the most guileless government operative she’d ever met, with the possible exception of Bozer.

She’d known that she was _not good_ for his brainpower once he’d developed that crush; it was obvious. She could practically see his brain cells go off on vacation when he’d seen her in her favourite red dress, seen him stare at her earrings, bizarrely fascinated.

‘You do.’

It was a fact. She could tell him that.

There was something a little sad in her voice, a little pained, a little sorry, but above all, it was resolute and determined.

She’d chosen her path, which in the end determined theirs, the one they could have shared, and it wasn’t the one he’d hoped for.

He would never manage to change her mind (and he’d never push too hard either; his grandpa and Jack had both always emphasised that it was always up to the lady), and Desi would never change her own mind.

There was a long, long silence, and then, Mac broke it, an air of realization in his voice.

‘You…you asked Matty for this mission, didn’t you?’

Desi nodded.

‘Distance will be good for us.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Besides, I’d hate to interrupt you and Jack’s bromance. I’m not a fan of third-wheeling.’ That got a snort of half-laughter out of him, and then, suddenly, shockingly, Desi took a step forward, fisted a hand in Mac’s shirt, looked up at him for a beat, and when he didn’t pull away, leaned up to _kiss_ him. When she pulled back (far too soon, a voice in his head said), taking a step back and pushing him back gently so he didn’t instinctively follow, Desi looked up at him, straight in the eye as he just stared at her, very much shocked and wondering if he’d imagined that. ‘Wondering is worse.’

Mac finally found his voice, as she took a couple more steps back, turning to move a coat from a coat hook into one of the go-bags on the kitchen counter.

‘Desi…’ She turned to look at him. The look in her eyes was almost unreadable, but he thought it was sad and sorry and affectionate and resolute and determined and stubborn and guarded all at once. ‘Take…take care. Come home safe.’

Desi gave a little smile, and for just one tiny moment, Mac half-thought he saw something brittle and bitter on her face, but then it was gone, and perhaps he’d just imagined it.

‘I always do.’ She turned back to her packing. ‘See you in a couple months, Mac.’

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

Mac, on some kind of autopilot, pulled his Jeep into his driveway, noting in the back of his mind that while Bozer’s car was absent (he was out with Leanna), Jack’s was parked in front of his house.

He turned off his car, got out and walked to the front door, unlocking it and stepping inside. Jack was waiting for him in the kitchen, a couple of beers, still ice-cold by the condensation on the bottles, freshly opened, on the counter.

‘Hey, brother.’ Jack held up his phone. ‘I, uh, got a text from our not-so-friendly neighbourhood porcupine.’

That got a snort out of Mac, and, at the same time, a head-shake and a smile that was fond and a little exasperated and _heartbroken_ , all at once.

‘She’s…she’s really something special.’

His voice caught a little, was a little rough with emotion, and Jack reached out, put an arm around the closest thing to a son he’d ever have, squeezed gently.

Mac wondered, genuinely, if Desi would ever cease to confuse him and give him whiplash and intrigue him and fascinate him at the same time.

‘Oh, yeah, son, oh, yeah.’ He paused, squeezed again. ‘I’m sorry.’

Mac manged a wan little smile at that, hugging Jack back.

‘Thanks, Jack.’

The older man squeezed his shoulders one last time, then let go and picked up both beers, holding one out to the blonde.

‘It’s gotta be five o’clock somewhere, brother.’

Jack started leading him out to the fire-pit.

It was 1:22 pm, so it was not exactly five o’clock anywhere, but Mac took a swig of his beer anyway, following Jack out onto the deck.

* * *

_My grandfather always said, sometimes, you get what you want. Sometimes, you get what you don’t, sometimes, you get nothing, and sometimes, Angus, you gain something, and you lose something._

_That’s life._

_You just gotta live with it._

_Grandpa was full of wisdom._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Hope you guys enjoyed Jack’s first mission back with the team (the Mac’n’Jack show is back! I so enjoyed writing that!), and felt that Mac and Desi were in-character in regards to their situation. On that note – with apologies to Mac/Desi fans, this is the end of the road for them as a romantic couple in this story. However, Desi will be back, I promise, as a ‘series regular’ – her solo mission is definitely not like Cage’s trip to Australia to visit her sister. (There are two and a half Desi-centric episodes in this story, and her solo mission is a set-up for what I think of as her major character arc.) 
> 
> There’s an ‘episode tag’ for Moments So Dear for this ‘ep’. It’ll be up on Tuesday, and here’s the summary: 
> 
> Man to Man, tag to 4.02, Gain/Loss. Mac asks Jack for some insight into Desi, while Jack tells Mac what’s going on with him and Diane.
> 
> And here’s the ‘press release’ for the next ep:
> 
> 4.03, Bad/Worse. When Jonah Walsh resurfaces and kidnaps a civilian friend of Jim’s as leverage to force him to continue the KX7 project, the MacGyvers are forced to work together to save an innocent life. Also, Jim reveals a couple more truths regarding his illness to Mac.
> 
> See you guys next week! :)


	3. Bad/Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jonah Walsh resurfaces and kidnaps a civilian friend of Jim’s as leverage to force him to continue the KX7 project, the MacGyvers are forced to work together to save an innocent life. Also, Jim reveals a couple more truths regarding his illness to Mac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to put this at the start of this entire story, but the title of this work, and _Moments So Dear_ , comes from the song _Seasons of Love_ from _RENT._

**SIX MONTHS AGO**

**ST ANGELINA’S HOSPITAL**

**LA**

* * *

It was quiet. Late enough into night shift that a little fatigue had set in, early enough that the boost provided by the fact that work was almost over hadn’t set in yet.

The perfect time to act.

Jim pulled the IV out of his right arm, then quietly got out of the hospital bed, frowning in distaste at the fact that he was wearing a hospital gown and felt rather exposed. He leaned down to grab his clothing from the storage box under the little nightstand, and had to grab onto the side of the bed to steady himself, because his head swum for a moment.

The sides of his abdomen and his flanks ached, too, but that was nothing he couldn’t handle.

He took a couple of deep breaths, collected his bundle of clothes, and sat back down on the bed to get changed.

It took longer than it should have, and the laces on his boots gave him trouble and required some creative problem-solving, but he finished dressing, eyed the hospital gown with distaste one last time, and then got up to head to the door of his hospital room.

Unfortunately, he only got halfway before the door opened, and in came a young, brunette woman in scrubs, the ER doctor who’d admitted him.

Dr Taylor blinked once in surprise, before pointing very firmly at the bed.

‘Get back into bed, Mr MacGyver.’

Her voice managed, somehow, to simultaneously admonish him for doing what he was supposed to not be doing (escaping the hospital) and warn him off not doing what he was supposed to be doing (resting in bed with the IV in).

Jim sighed internally and trudged back over to the bed and sat down. The sweet-faced, youthful doctor apparently had a lot more fire and fierceness in her than he’d thought.

Dr Taylor busied herself with disinfecting her hands, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, cleaning his forearm with an alcohol wipe and then re-inserting his IV.

(At least she hadn’t insisted he changed back into that hospital gown.)

As she did so, Jim spoke, trying to reason his way out of this situation.

‘I’m dehydrated, my blood sugar levels dropped too low and I have bruised kidneys, resulting in, among other issues, low blood pressure, which led to a brief loss of consciousness. The cure is rest, food, fluids and time, which I can take from the comfort of my own home.’

Dr Taylor shot him a narrow-eyed _look_ that suggested she was absolutely unconvinced, and put a second and third piece of tape over the IV entry point in his arm in an X, as if to emphasise he was not to remove it again.

‘Mr MacGyver, you collapsed at 11 pm in your local convenience store while attempting to buy food. You apparently hadn’t eaten anything of note for thirty-six hours, and had ingested less than minimal fluids for the same period of time, because you were _caught up in a work project_.’ He’d finally gotten another lead on Jonah Walsh. As a result, he’d gotten a little lost down the rabbit hole, chasing the lead. A voice in his head that sounded too much like Ellen pointed out, _Jim, not eating and barely drinking for thirty-six hours is a lot more than getting a little lost._ ‘This is on top of the fact that you suffered undiagnosed bruised kidneys in a car accident twenty-four hours before that…’ It wasn’t a car _accident,_ but Dr Taylor did not need to know that. Her expression grew sympathetic, but no less firm, no less _don’t argue._ ‘I’m sorry, Mr MacGyver, I know being stuck in hospital is not fun, but I _cannot_ discharge you until you’ve recuperated sufficiently, the test results come back and we’ve observed you overnight, just to ensure there are no more undiagnosed issues from your accident, and that there are no further complications.’ Her expression softened. ‘Try and sleep; it’ll at least past the time.’

She made a few notes on his chart, then departed to tend to other patients, and Jim was left on his own, stuck in bed with an IV in. He sighed, out-loud this time, and settled himself a little more comfortably into bed and closed his eyes.

He had enough of a soldier-spy in him to know that it paid to sleep when you had nothing else to do.

* * *

He was woken a few hours later from a dream, the kind that stuck a little in your mind, lingered after you woke.

(It’d been half-memory. Coming home after a long, exhausting mission, bruised and battered and sore, falling into _their_ bed with Ellen, curling up around her and taking in that vanilla scent, resting a hand over her belly, swollen with their son…)

(It hurt, stung, still, after all these years. Jim thought it would for the rest of his life.)

(At the same time, it comforted him, and it was a treasured, treasured memory.)

(It hurt more to dream of Ellen than it did to have nightmares. Yet he would sooner dream of her than something harmless, like delivering a lecture on statistical thermodynamics or building Rube Goldberg machines.)

‘Mr MacGyver?’ Dr Taylor entered his hospital room, sitting down on the chair by his bed, looking serious and concerned and calmly reassuring. It was very much a doctor’s expression. She was holding a folder, presumably containing his test results, and opened it to show him. ‘I have some concerns about your test results, and I’d like to order some more tests and refer you on to one of my colleagues…’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

Mac toyed with his phone, debating whether or not to text Desi.

They’d exchanged a few messages since she’d left two weeks ago, things like she’d arrived safely and the local grub was great, but there were no spicy ranch chips in-country.

He respected her desire for distance, and with a little distance, he did think she had a point about it being too dangerous for them to let themselves distract each other.

(He was well aware she did a number on his brain. He partly blamed that – rightly or wrongly – for his atypically-high level of awkwardness around her.)

(He thought it’d have passed, with time, if they’d…Mac pushed those thoughts away firmly.)

Still, at the same time, they were still teammates, and friends, even if they couldn’t be more.

Cutting off all communication was not what teammates and friends did.

(Even when heartbroken. _Especially_ when heartbroken.)

Mac typed out a variety of messages, all ‘small-talk’, but deleted each one before sending. He put his phone down on his desk, running a hand through his hair, glancing at the mobile gas chromatograph that was sitting on his desk, half-disassembled.

(A week ago, Matty had literally walked into the lab and tossed it at him, telling him that DARPA had made it and ordering him to _make it better, Baby Einstein._ She’d then walked out and left him holding it with no further explanation.)

(He appreciated the distraction, the project to focus on, that she was giving him.)

(He had no idea how Matty knew everything that had happened between him and Desi, without being told, but he also knew that she would always have known, because she was Matty.)

His doorbell rang.

Brow furrowing, knowing that it had to be someone that his home security system recognized as a friend (he’d upgraded it; Desi had practically forced him), or he’d have been alerted earlier, Mac made his way to the front door.

He checked the peephole (Desi’s influence, again), and his eyes grew set. Mac opened the door, to reveal his father standing on his front step.

‘Jim.’

His dad swallowed, a flicker of hurt passing across his face, followed by resignation.

What was most interesting, though, was that those emotions were quickly lost in the others that Mac could see in his father’s eyes, on his face, even in his posture.

Guilt, worry, anger, regret…all tightly-leashed, but all there.

And above all that, _obsession._

‘Angus.’ It was in his voice, too. ‘Can I come in?’ He swallowed. ‘I…I need your help, and it’s not something to discuss on your front porch.’

The guilt was worse. And was that a touch of desperation?

Mac opened the front door wider, and his dad stepped inside, and pulled out his phone, handing it to him without a word.

There was a video on-screen, paused at the start.

There was a woman who looked a little younger than him, with light-brown hair falling out of a braid and large brown eyes, terrified and full of unshed tears. There were a few faded tear-tracks down her face, like her efforts to not cry had failed once or twice, and she was tied to a chair in a dark room, a gag stuffed into her mouth.

All in all, it was not an image Mac wanted to see, because it was not a situation he wanted to see happening, to anyone.

But the thing was, he _recognized_ her.

* * *

**FOUR MONTHS AGO**

**ST ANGELINA’S HOSPITAL**

**LA**

* * *

Newly returned from a mission, straight after debrief, Mac walked into the oncology ward where his dad had his treatments, to find his father hooked up to an IV line, delivering the hopefully-life-saving drugs into his system, as expected.

_Unexpectedly,_ there was a pretty brunette woman, roughly his age, maybe younger, playing chess with his dad. She was wearing casual clothing, a striped T-shirt and yoga pants, but had a hospital ID pinned to her shirt and a bag at her feet, tipped to the side in a way that let Mac see a set of scrubs and a doctor’s coat inside.

His dad was focused on the game, which he could tell even from the doorway was a close one.

Then, he smiled in a way that was _very_ familiar to Mac, and made a move.

The off-duty doctor blinked once at the board, then shook her head, a smile on her face, and reached out to shake his dad’s hand in recognition of a good game.

His dad smiled a little wider as he shook the woman’s hand, clearly grateful for the distraction, and the company and the intellectual stimulation.

All the things Mac had wanted to provide for his dad, but hadn’t been able to.

Thus, he too was very grateful to this stranger.

He walked into the room, towards his dad’s chair, just as the woman got up and picked up her bag.

‘…my shift starts in twenty minutes, so excellent timing, Jim.’

His dad gestured towards Mac with his head, smile widening in greeting.

‘Seems to be a family trait.’

That made the doctor smile a little wider as she glanced between them, and she started towards the door. Just as she passed him, Mac spoke, catching her eye, reading her nametag out of the corner of his eye. _Dr B. Taylor._

‘ _Thank you._ ’

There was a lot in there. Enough that it made her blink twice in surprise, before she ducked her head, cheeks flushing a bit.

‘It wasn’t…I mean…well, you’re very welcome. Both of you.’

Then, she hurried out of the room, turning left towards the ER. Mac turned to his dad, and took a seat. He gestured towards the chessboard.

‘Up for another game?’

His dad started to rearrange the pieces to their starting positions, smiling.

‘Always.’

Mac started to help move the pieces, gesturing with his head towards the doorway.

‘You’ve made a friend?’

His dad nodded, then looked pointedly at him.

‘She doesn’t go easy on me.’

Mac held up his hands, giving a single incredulous chuckle.

‘It was _once_!’ His dad raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Okay, twice.’ He raised his hands further. ‘I won’t do it again!’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

Jim pressed play on the video.

Jonah Walsh came into view, a lazy, disturbing grin on his face.

‘Hey, Jim. It’s been a while. Guess we’ve both been busy, eh? Too busy to catch up with old friends…maybe ‘cause you’ve been making new ones…’ Walsh pulled out a gun, lazily placed a mag in it. ‘…and I’ve been working on the little project you abandoned.’ He placed the muzzle of the gun on the side of Dr Taylor’s head. She let out a whimper of fear, before seemingly mentally kicking herself for letting it out. Walsh leaned closer to the camera. ‘But I’m not getting very far, so, Jimmy, I got a deal for you.’ He flicked the safety off. ‘You’re gonna go get little Gus, and the two of you are gonna show up to the address I text you, _alone,_ and you’re gonna iron out those kinks in KX7, or little Bessie-‘ Walsh cut himself off, smirked lazily, and addressed Dr Taylor. ‘Can I call you that, sweetheart?’ Judging by the vehement glare she tried to shoot him, the answer was _absolutely not._ Walsh laughed, then turned back to the camera. Back to Jim. ‘…well, you’re a smart man, Prof, you don’t need me to spell it out for you.’

He pressed the gun a little harder into the side of the young woman’s head, and then, the video cut out.

Mac turned to look at his father, who looked angry. Very, very angry, clearly keeping his temper tightly-leashed.

There was also clear guilt under all that anger.

Mac didn’t think he’d ever seen his dad look like that.

Not even when Walsh had threatened to kill him to force his dad to work on KX7.

He pushed away the flash of hurt that caused.

(It wasn’t a fair comparison. His dad had changed since then…or so Mac had thought, until he’d said _no idea_ when asked why Mason might have this grudge _…it is_ when asked if Mason’s story was true _…_ and then, _he died for the most important thing I can think of._ Dr Taylor was an innocent, someone who’d been doing her job, had the kindness and the dedication to go above and beyond, remembering that _there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy and understanding may outweigh the surgeon’s knife or the chemist’s drug._ Mac was a secret agent, a covert operative who’d chosen this life, knowing the risks…or, at least, he’d thought he’d chosen.)

(A shadow genius had pulled the strings behind the scenes, had he not?)

Mac took a deep breath, pushing away all his anger and resentment for his father, pushing away all those complicated emotions their complicated relationship raised, locking them into a box in his mind for later.

They had a job to do first.

Over the last few months, as his dad had undergone chemo, Mac had occasionally crossed paths with Dr Taylor. She sat with his dad before or after her shifts when she could (and he couldn’t), keeping him company and distracting him by playing games of chess or checkers or fervently debating a paper in the MacGyvers’ favourite biomedical engineering journal with him.

He was grateful to her, and he knew his father was too, for being there for him when no-one else could be, for her kindness and her dedication to the spirit of her profession, for the friendship she’d offered a lonely man fighting for his life.

(That was what his father was, after all. Being the head of an extremely secretive covert organization and years of estrangement from the only family you had left was extremely, extremely isolating.)

James MacGyver owed her.

Mac owed her.

And besides, you did not let a _friend_ die. You did not let an _innocent_ die.

Not without giving everything you had to prevent it.

He looked his father in the eye, nodded once, and grabbed his coat, taking a handful of paperclips from the secret pocket in the polar bear in the entryway.

‘Let’s go.’

* * *

**JIM’S CAR**

**ON-ROUTE TO WALSH’S SECRET LOCATION**

**SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA**

* * *

The car ride was spent in tense silence, at least until Mac broke it at last, voice a little incredulous, disbelieving.

‘You became friends with a civilian. Close enough friends that Walsh saw fit to kidnap her as leverage…’ Though, to be honest, Walsh didn’t have many options for leverage that were _personal._ Phoenix agents weren’t exactly easy targets, and apart from Dr Taylor, the civilian options were limited to the waitress at the diner whose section they always sat in (and had revealed Jim’s illness to Bozer) or Jim’s favourite barista from the café near St Angelina’s, who was saving for a guitar. ‘…and that you’re…’ He gestured at his dad, who was still carrying that intense anger-guilt mixture in the line of his shoulders. ‘…like this!’

His dad turned his head to glance at him quickly as they sped down the highway.

‘Walsh kidnapped and is threatening an innocent woman who was just doing her job.’ His dad’s voice was clipped. ‘I’m not heartless.’

That was definitely a rebuke. Mac bit back the probably-unfair response that threatened to bubble out of his mouth (far too many times in his life, he’d been convinced his dad was indeed heartless), and made a vague gesture of apology.

‘How did you become friends with Dr Taylor?’

He turned his head, waiting for his dad to glance at him, locked eyes with him and crossed his arms.

Mac had realized that no more lies did _not_ mean no more secrets. Since Mexico, his dad had obviously kept at least a couple of secrets from him.

(He got that some of them were probably necessary – he accepted that Matty kept secrets from them, had to – but some were clearly things that Mac could know or should know or had a right to know.)

A friendship with a civilian woman wasn’t much of a secret, wasn’t something that was full of minefields, but at the same time, given their current mission, given the fact that this friendship was so tied up in his dad’s cancer treatment, Mac felt he needed to know.

Had a right to know, even.

To his slight surprise, that got a wry, fond little smile out of his dad, a hint of something self-deprecating there.

‘Honestly, Angus, sometimes, I have no idea how it happened…aside from the fact that it is almost as hard to say no to her as it is to say no to Matilda.’

* * *

**FIVE AND A HALF MONTHS AGO**

**ST ANGELINA’S HOSPITAL**

**LA**

* * *

Jim wiped his mouth with his handkerchief as he finished throwing up into the trash can in the hospital carpark, spitting to try and get some of the taste out of his mouth as he tried to catch his breath.

He was well aware of the expected symptoms that arose as side-effects of chemotherapy.

He hadn’t expected the nausea to be quite this bad.

Another wave of nausea hit him, and he retched into the trash can again.

‘Mr MacGyver!’

The voice behind him was familiar, and was also very concerned. Jim wiped his mouth on his handkerchief again, and stumbled as he tried to stand up straight. Dr Taylor caught his elbow, helped him straighten up, then lifted her hands off him, though he noted they stayed close, as if to catch him if he fell.

(Simple physics might defeat her; she was a short woman, at least ten inches shorter than he was, and with a slight build to match, as _determined_ as she seemed to be.)

Jim managed a polite smile at the young woman, still dressed in her scrubs, leaving the hospital after her shift.

‘Thank you, Dr Taylor.’

He sucked in a few deep breaths, as she glanced at his forearm, where an IV line would go, noting the rolled-down shirt-sleeve, then up at his face. Jim just nodded in confirmation, and her expression grew sympathetic, in a way that seemed genuinely felt, too

‘I’m sorry…’

Jim just raised a shoulder.

‘It is what it is.’ He absolutely didn’t miss the look of concern that flitted across her face as she glanced at the trash can, then back at him. ‘The intensity of the side-effects just took me by surprise.’

Dr Taylor still looked concerned, albeit more professionally so, as she gestured towards the hospital.

‘You can wait inside for your pick-up; take a seat, drink some water, you definitely don’t need to wait in the carpark-‘

He shook his head, cutting her off.

‘I’m not waiting for a pick-up.’ He pointed at his car, just fifty feet away. Which didn’t seem like a trivial distance at that moment. ‘That’s my car; I’m driving.’ Dr Taylor looked even more concerned, both professionally and personally. Jim would later blame (and then, after that, thank) the drugs, his situation, the pressure and difficulty of keeping it all a secret and carrying on as usual for the fact that he continued. ‘I haven’t told anyone about my situation, and I intend to keep it that way.’

Dr Taylor sighed, the worry on her face only getting stronger.

‘It’s not my place as a medical professional to pry into why you’re keeping your diagnosis a secret, Mr MacGyver…’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘But it _is_ my place to worry that you are not capable of driving yourself, and to remedy that. You need to sit down, have something to drink and preferably eat something before you drive.’ She pointed to the left. ‘If you don’t want to go back into the hospital, there’s a café just down the block…’

He sighed. She was right.

He was in no fit state to drive.

He’d crash his car in this state, and a drink to get the taste of bile out of his mouth would be welcome…

He started walking in the direction she pointed out.

He also didn’t protest when he stumbled halfway there, and she caught him, and after checking it was okay, kept a hand on his arm to steady him the rest of the way there.

He didn’t even protest when she ordered diluted apple juice and dry toast for him, told him very sternly and with narrowed eyes to eat and drink it all slowly before heading home, and as far as he could tell, discreetly asked the barista (a young woman with colours in her hair and humming along to the guitar melody playing) to keep an eye on him before she left.

His gut (well-honed after years in his field) told him that this was not a fight he wanted to pick. Not against her sheer force of will.

She might have been small and young and sweet-faced, but James MacGyver had long ago learned to never, ever judge someone’s will or strength or scariness by appearance, especially size.

(Matilda Webber was really something else.)

* * *

After the second time he ran into her after chemo, Jim had Dr Taylor vetted.

Thoroughly.

Was he being paranoid?

Yes.

Did he have good reason to be paranoid?

Of course.

The first thing that’d crossed his mind was that she was a honeypot trap.

(She was very pretty, even in scrubs, and clearly intelligent and obviously had steel in her spine.)

Then again, that was not only disturbing on many levels, it was doomed to failure, because she was Angus’ age and he had no interest in a woman young enough to be his daughter…or, the thought had hit him suddenly, his daughter-in-law.

The second thought was that some enemy of his and/or Angus’ was being very, very clever indeed (or at least trying to be), trying to get both of them at once.

(You did not survive so long in a job like his without some degree of paranoia that would look irrational to civilians, if they knew.)

Still, the very thorough and excellently-done vetting came back clean.

Bethany Helena Taylor, M.D., was who she said she was. Twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight, born in West Lafayette, Indiana, to Caitlyn O’Reilly, PhD, chemistry academic, and Michael Taylor, biomedical engineer…

Psych profiling suggested that she meant no harm whatsoever to him, those he cared about, the general populace and the greater good.

The third time he ran into her, they had a brief conversation regarding the chemotherapy drugs he was on.

The fourth time, she ate a muffin and drank some coffee (milk, one and a half sugars) at the café while he nibbled his dry toast and drank his diluted apple juice, and they debated solutions to the antibiotic resistance problem.

The fifth time, they played a game of spontaneous, improvised chess, using a toothpick grid and sugar packets, her bobby pins, napkins and the salt and pepper shakers as pieces.

Jim started feeling less bad after chemo.

And he started to feel that he was finally keeping a promise he’d broken years ago, a promise that he thought he’d never manage to keep, no matter how much he wanted to, now.

Somehow.

* * *

**THIRTY THREE YEARS AGO**

**MISSION CITY**

* * *

‘… _You people _with_  hearts _have_  something _ _to_ _guide you, _and_  need never _ _do_ _wrong; but I _have no__ _heart_ _, _and so_  I  _must__   _be _very careful.’__

Ellen looked at him, studied him for a moment, then, to his complete and utter shock, smiled and shook her head.

‘That is the _stupidest_ thing I’ve ever heard you say, Jim.’ She stepped forward, so, so close to him, and looked up at him, tapped the left side of his chest with a finger. He had to tamp down on the urge to kiss her. She was a friend, and couldn’t be anything more. She was a schoolteacher, a civilian, whose life (and that of her father’s) had wound up getting tangled with his and Jonah’s by simple, pure chance. Besides, why would she want someone like _him_ anyway? She’d be better off with a man like Jonah who didn’t need to be dragged out of the lab or his own head every week at the very least and who had social skills better than ‘passable’. ‘You’ve got a heart. You just hide it very well.’

* * *

**TWENTY THREE YEARS AGO**

**MISSION CITY**

* * *

‘Jim?’ Immediately, at the sound of his beloved wife’s weak voice, he leaned forward in his seat, held her hand a little tighter. Ellen looked up at him from where she was propped up on pillows, too weak to sit up on her own, now. How long she had left was inching steadily closer to being measured in hours, not days. ‘Promise me something?’

‘Anything.’

She smiled at him, raised a hand shakily to put a hand over his heart. He brought his other hand to hers to help, and simply so he could touch her, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t ever again.

‘Promise me…when I’m gone, don’t…don’t hide this so well even you can’t find it.’

He swallowed.

‘I promise.’

* * *

**EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO**

**CABIN IN THE WOODS**

**LAKE TAHOE**

* * *

‘I’m sorry, Ellen.’

James MacGyver sat on the old, dust-covered sofa in the little cabin, a book in his hands. An old, vintage copy of _The Wizard of Oz,_ with an inscription written in the cover in his handwriting.

_To my Good Witch. Love, your Tin-Man._

He placed a scrap of wrapping paper, black and white with compasses printed on it, slightly scrunched from where he’d shoved it in his pocket, inside the cover, closed the book, and set it in the secret safe under the floorboards, locking it firmly.

He’d broken his promise.

* * *

**FOUR AND A HALF MONTHS AGO**

**CAFÉ NEAR THE HOSPITAL**

* * *

The sixth time Jim encountered Beth, she wasn’t aware of it.

He was sitting in a booth at the café, enjoying a cup of coffee and a slice of apple tea cake (he didn’t have chemo that day, he’d simply decided to head to the café as he was in the area, since some of the cakes smelled appealing even post-chemo). Bent down over the toothpick tower he was constructing, he was low enough his head didn’t show over the back of the booth.

Two people slid into the booth behind him, chatting, and as he caught snatches of their conversation, he found he recognized the female voice.

‘…I don’t know, Chris, on one hand, he’s a patient, and thus, it’s ethically problematic, but on the other hand…he’s going through this alone, and with the latest studies on the correlation between loneliness and cancer mortality, not to mention the fact that, well, _no-one_ should go through this _alone_ …’

Beth trailed off, sounding very torn. Jim was unsurprised that their potential developing friendship was causing her ethical difficulties; he had never considered any of their interactions anywhere near inappropriate or uncomfortable, but she took her job very seriously, and she was young, just a couple years out of training where professionalism and appropriate doctor-patient relations would have been very strongly emphasized.

‘…he’s not _your_ patient, Beth, and you’re good at compartmentalizing. You’re a good doctor, and a good person; trust your instincts, remember your Oath, and remember, no matter what they taught you in med school, there _is_ room for emotion in medicine. When we _stop_ caring, _that’s_ when we need to worry.’

* * *

The eighth time, Beth stared at her half-eaten muffin and interrupted their truly fascinating debate on the merits of different methods of Mars colonization.

‘…Jim?’ Beth fidgeted a little in her seat, biting her lip, hesitating before continuing. ‘I…well, you absolutely don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but…uh…do you have any family?’

He was pulled out of his thoughts on geodome design and a memory of Angus’ attempts to build one in their backyard as a nine-year-old, and looked up at her over his toast, putting down the piece in his hands.

‘I have a son. Our relationship is…well, complicated.’ Jim swallowed, looking away from her, suddenly ashamed. He’d never had to actually _explain_ his relationship with Angus to anyone. _Explain_ what he’d done. He supposed that he didn’t actually need to _tell_ Beth, even, but something in his mind or his gut or his heart nudged him to. Ellen’s promise, perhaps. ‘When his mom died, I didn’t cope. I changed, and when he was ten, I just…left…’

As he told the whole sorry tale, Jim could tell that Beth was getting upset on Angus’ behalf, at what he’d done, but was trying very hard not to, for his sake.

(She didn’t have much of a poker face.)

After he’d finished his toast and apple juice, and she’d finished her muffin, and they’d both gotten up, after another moment’s hesitation, she held up her arms, shoulders shrugged and with an awkward but very much genuine smile on her face.

‘Umm…would you like an oxytocin boost?’

Jim hesitated for a moment.

How long had it been since he’d had a hug?

He had a near-eidetic memory, and he couldn’t recall, as he’d apparently decided it was unimportant.

He reached out and hugged her. It was very awkward, and very brief, but it did make him feel better.

Oxytocin was a most wonderful peptide hormone.

He’d forgotten that.

* * *

That must have knocked something loose in his brain, because a couple of nights later, he had a dream, and a realization.

(The dream was half a memory, of the time he’d missed his and Ellen’s first anniversary, the one that he’d _promised_ to be there for. He’d shown up at her door three days later with a bunch of duct-tape roses and an apology on his lips, and she’d told him that that hadn’t fixed the problem…but that it was the start of the conversation that’d fix it, as her dad always said, and promptly invited him in for said conversation.)

He had never apologized to Angus, not _truly._

He’d made excuses, given what were in hindsight half-assed apologies…

They were the truth, and he and Angus had agreed to a clean slate, Angus had forgiven him, but…

Maybe it was being confronted with his own mortality, and the various consequences of his diagnosis, both expected and unexpected (re-evaluation of priorities, even more memories of Ellen, a newfound friendship to his immense surprise – he still didn’t quite know how it’d happened), but suddenly, that was _just not good enough._

* * *

A week later, after a round of chemo, after his son had learned what he’d been hiding, Jim led Angus to the café, and ordered his ‘usual’.

His son perused the menu, but Jim pointed at a cake in the display case.

‘The apple tea cake’s delicious.’

Angus smiled, and ordered a slice of the cake.

(Apple was both MacGyvers’ favourite kind of pie – Ellen MacGyver had made an excellent rendition of one – and that fondness generally extended to apple-flavoured desserts.)

They sat down at a table by the window, and Jim could practically see the cogs turning in his son’s head, as he brought up everything he knew about cancer and chemotherapy and radiotherapy and immunotherapy, trying to work out how he could _fix_ his dad.

Even though this wasn’t something Angus could fix.

Even if Jim didn’t want him to use what could be precious little time the two of them had left trying, futilely.

‘Angus?’ His son looked up from his cake, immediately present in the moment with him. Jim smiled. He knew what strength of will it took to pull them out of their heads when they got lost. ‘I’m sorry.’

His brow furrowed.

‘For not telling me? It’s alright, Dad, it-‘

‘No, for…for leaving when you were a kid.’

Angus stared at him, blinked a couple of times.

‘It’s…I mean, we agreed on a clean slate, we’re good, Dad…’

Still, from his tone of voice, the look on his face, clearly, that simple apology, with no excuses, had meant a lot to his son.

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**APPROACHING WALSH’S SECRET LOCATION**

**SAN DIEGO**

* * *

Mac turned to his dad as they drove, looking at the image of the warehouse on his phone.

( _Of course_ it was a warehouse. It was _always_ a warehouse.)

‘This looks like the best entry point, but Walsh would expect us there…what’s the plan?’

_Of course_ there was going to be a plan. They weren’t going to just go in there and do what Walsh asked. He needed them both alive, to fix KX7, and he needed Dr Taylor alive as leverage until they did, so a rescue attempt wasn’t a gamble as long as they were careful.

_It goes without saying that we need to rescue her._

_It also goes without saying that we cannot let Jonah Walsh get his hands on KX7. Even if we manage to fix the 100% mortality rate._

His dad managed a wry little smile.

‘Remember the time you broke into the house when you were nine?’

He’d snuck out to watch a supermoon on the roof of Bozer’s house, since the Bozers lived in a neighbourhood with less light pollution.

Mac gave a wry little smirk, and nodded.

‘Yup. You were _not_ happy.’

Jim nodded, the smile softening, growing fond.

‘But I _was_ very impressed.’

Mac smiled back as he pulled out his Swiss Army knife and started re-shaping paperclips, and for a moment, everything was right between the MacGyvers.

* * *

_Of course, the plan did not go to plan._

_A, Murphy’s Law._

_B, when has a MacGyver plan ever gone 100% right? Plans have never been my thing, and honestly, they’re not my dad’s thing either._

* * *

‘…I know you’re here somewhere, boyo…’ Jonah Walsh, holding a gun to his father’s head, called out as Mac inched along the roof of the warehouse, resolutely not looking down, using a beam and the fact that people rarely looked up to stay out of sight. ‘…if you don’t come out right now and say hi to your Uncle Jonah, it’ll be the end of the road for Big Mac!’ Walsh chuckled at a joke only he could hear. ‘Oh, I know you think I’m bluffing, but I spent years listening to Jimmy here tell me all about how his boy’s gonna grow up to be so much cleverer than him; Daddy might not be able to iron out the kinks in KX7 on his own, but I’ll bet, say, your Daddy’s life you can, Mini-Mac, so…’

Internally, Mac cursed.

Walsh didn’t seem like he was bluffing, and there was so much bad blood between him and his dad…

And at the end of the day, he couldn’t chance his dad’s life.

That would go against everything he believed in.

Mac cursed again internally, and shifted on the ceiling, moving out of the way of the beam, attached the end of the rope harness he was wearing to the beam, and dropped down from the ceiling, right in front of Walsh.

His dad shot him a _look,_ apparently convinced that Walsh was bluffing, which Mac ignored.

_Nobody_ was dying today.

He was not risking it.

This was _not_ going to become a bad/worse situation.

* * *

Walsh led the two MacGyvers, at gunpoint and surrounded by goons, into a laboratory. It was surprisingly well fitted out, considering that it was illegal, in a warehouse and belonged to an extremely wanted man.

After surveying the equipment, Jim crossed his arms, and turned to face Walsh.

‘Angus and I can’t fix KX7 on our own, Jonah. We’re not biochemists or doctors, and a 100% mortality rate isn’t a _kink._ ’ Mac knew where this was going; his dad had pulled this before, after all, on Walsh…the question was, whether Walsh would fall for it. And what the plan was after that. ‘There’s one person who’s _presumably_ in this building who can help us.’ Jim spread his hands wide, like he was simply making a logical point. ‘She’s a doctor, the daughter of a chemist and almost as smart as me and Angus.’

Walsh snorted.

‘Yeah, you’ve pulled this trick before, Prof…’ Walsh smirked. ‘But I thought you’d say something like that, so…’ He gestured, and the lab door opened. Two of his men dragged Dr Taylor in. The poor woman still looked terrified…and there was a shock collar around her neck, a little like the one that Mac’s grandpa had once bought for Archimedes (that’d been a low-powered one; this one was distinctly not). Mac felt sick. His dad’s expression was set, something cold and flinty in his eyes. Walsh’s man tossed him a remote control. ‘I got a little, shall we say, insurance policy.’

He pressed the button on the remote, and the young woman _screamed,_ falling to her knees. Mac’s eyes widened in horror, and he barely managed to stop himself from taking a step forward, fists clenching at his sides.

A glance at his father, who spoke with his voice full of barely-restrained anger, showed that same tension in his shoulders.

‘That was completely unnecessary, Jonah.’

Walsh smirked as Dr Taylor sucked in several deep breaths, still on her hands and knees.

‘Oh, I’ll be the judge of that, Jimmy.’ He waggled the remote. ‘Any mischief from you or your boy…’ He pressed the button again, and there was another horrific scream. He gestured to his men. ‘Come on, boys, let’s leave the geniuses to do their thing…but we’ll be watching, Jimmy, we’ll be watching…’

Walsh strode out, along with his men, gesturing to one of the many, many security cameras around the lab.

(The MacGyvers had already noticed them, realized that there were no blind spots to be found, when they’d been led into the room.)

Both Mac and Jim rushed over to the young woman slumped onto the floor, shaking a little, sucking in air, cheek pressed to the concrete, and Jim crouched down by her, putting a hand on her back.

‘Beth?’

She sat up slowly, still catching her breath, wiping tears from her eyes.

‘I’m…I’m alright, it’s…it’s okay.’ It was absolutely not okay, and she was absolutely not alright, but an air of calm settled over her face anyway after a half-dozen breaths. Mac assumed she was drawing on her medical training, the compartmentalization that she needed at work every day. After another dozen breaths, she looked at his dad, and a very shaky attempt at a narrow-eyed look crossed her face, and she jabbed her finger, also shakily, at the air in front of Jim’s chest. The stray thought crossed Mac’s mind that she’d fit in well at the Phoenix; she was finding light in the darkness the way they all did to cope. ‘You don’t run a think-tank…’ Her eyes widened further in realization as she glanced between the MacGyvers. ‘…and if I were a betting woman, I’d say that your ethical dilemma with your son has nothing to do with him accusing you of nepotism when you promoted him, does it?’

Mac shot his dad a _look._

Jim sighed, a whole range of emotions flashing across his face. Guilt and regret and anger and worry …and fondness and even pride?

It was honestly jarring, shocking, for Mac to see. He’d seen emotions like that on his dad’s face directed at him, and at Matty and Bozer a couple times, but had honestly thought it limited to them for now, and perhaps Jack and Riley and maybe Desi one day.

(His dad _was_ his dad.)

‘Unfortunately, no.’

Dr Taylor took another shaky breath, then another, less shaky one. The look of admonishing exasperation that crossed her face when she addressed Jim again was more finding-light-in-the-darkness than genuinely felt, but Mac was honestly pretty impressed.

‘You might be responding very well to treatment, Jim, but that does _not_ mean you should be attempting to execute daring rescues-‘

‘You’re responding to treatment? _Well_?’

Mac cut her off, not meaning to, but unable to keep that _hope,_ that rush of _joy_ inside, despite the situation, despite those feelings locked in that box, despite the fact he and his dad hadn’t really spoken for weeks.

Dr Taylor’s eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes darting between the two of them as she realized what she’d said.

‘…Jim, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot and-‘

‘You have nothing to apologize for, Beth, and yes, Angus…I am. I…’ The elder MacGyver sighed. ‘I should have told you, but…I didn’t know how to start that conversation, considering…’

_Well, considering that we’re estranged. Again. Because of questionable decisions he’s made. Again._

Dr Taylor glanced between the MacGyvers, her eyes still wide, and apparently feeling awkward due to the tension that was rolling off the two of them in waves. As her neck moved, one of her hands shifted close to her neck, like she wanted to tug at the collar weighing on it, but she pulled it back, swallowing the wave of fear at the reminder of her very precarious situation, and spoke, her voice a little shaky again.

‘Umm…I think we should, uh, well, get back on topic, since…’ She firmly clasped her hands together to prevent them from drifting up to her neck again. ‘…what _is_ KX7, and _why_ does this Walsh want it so badly?’

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Dr Taylor was pacing around the lab, reading the dossier of Jim’s work on KX7 that Walsh had helpfully provided with the rest of the equipment…and proceeding to tear it to shreds.

_You know, in a non-life-threatening situation, I would probably really, really enjoy this._

‘…Jim, how could you _possibly_ think that altering normal biochemistry to this degree was a _good_ idea?’ She flung her hands up in the air in frustration, and exasperation, grabbing a pen and scribbling on a whiteboard, apparently using science as a coping strategy. Mac and Jim could relate. ‘…it triggers a signalling cascade that completely alters cell membrane potentials in cardiac tissue! No wonder the LD50 is so low and it has a 100% mortality rate!’

How worked up she was getting served as a good distraction, too, as Mac and Jim passed a piece of paper between them as they worked, Mac in front of a roto-vap, Jim carefully titrating acid into a beaker, communicating in a secret code based on the structures of organic molecules they’d developed when Mac was eight and his dad was teaching him organic chemistry.

(They weren’t actually doing anything that was _hugely_ useful to progressing KX7 – Jim was making a buffer for cell line tests, while Mac was distilling solvent – but it was useful enough Walsh wouldn’t notice.)

(He was no scientist.)

_We can’t risk that._

Mac nixed his dad’s second proposed escape plan. Jim scribbled a reply.

_I know it’s bad, Angus, but it’s better than the three of us dying here when Walsh realizes there is no way we can possibly fix KX7._

Mac shot his dad a look, and then, both of them glanced at Dr Taylor as she stood in front of the whiteboard, which was covered in her surprisingly-neat handwriting, though it got worse and worse as she went. She was twisting the whiteboard marker in her hands, her eyes terrified again as she came up for air from all the science.

‘Jim…Mac…how…how can I help?’

The _look_ Mac shot his dad grew even more intense.

_I guess that’s the difference between me and my dad._

_He thinks in terms of bad and worse. One’s acceptable, over the other._

_For me, there’s just bad and bad, and it’s all unacceptable._

_I’m not going to try one of my dad’s escape plans and risk Walsh torturing Dr Taylor, even if it is, objectively, obviously, better than all three of us dying here. Probably painfully, knowing Walsh._

_If that collar was on me…in a heartbeat. But that’s a different matter._

_There are some risks that are unacceptable, even if they’re for the ‘greater good’. Torture of an innocent…that’s definitely one of them._

_So, I’m waiting until we come up with something better._

_Which is probably going to be when the cavalry shows up._

_What?_

_You think I’d run off with my dad without telling Jack?_

_Trust me, A, I couldn’t, because Jack’s a helicopter parent. B, I’ve learned my lesson. C, he’d kill me. Then Desi would, and then Matty, Bozer and Riley._

_Family, eh?_

* * *

**PHOENIX VAN**

**THE STREETS OF SAN DIEGO**

* * *

‘…Why do I always have to be the cavalry?’ Jack, sitting in the back of the van with a tac-team in tac gear, made an exasperated gesture at Matty, who was sitting opposite him. ‘I get it, father-son bonding, that’s very important and all, but why can’t they go off fishing or something, ‘stead of a crazy daring rescue?’

He had gotten a text from Mac that he and his dad were going to go pull off a daring rescue, because Walsh had kidnapped his dad’s friend, and not to follow because otherwise Walsh would kill her.

The usual.

Jack was astounded that Jim even _had_ friends, which was kinda mean, but the guy was, well…Mac hadn’t been wrong about the whole emotional distance, intellectual superiority thing.

Up the front of the van, Bozer, who was driving, glanced at Riley, who was typing on her laptop, keeping a careful eye on the location they’d tracked the MacGyvers to, scanning for any kind of transmission or message, and shrugged.

‘He’s not wrong.’

* * *

**WALSH’S NOT-SO-SECRET LOCATION**

**SAN DIEGO**

* * *

‘…I told you we had to decrease the stable temperature the water bath will hold! _No, Angus, it’ll just evaporate faster…’_

All three glass bulbs as well as the condenser on the rotary evaporator had exploded, covering both MacGyvers with solvent, and bits of glass. Thankfully, they were wearing safety glasses, which Walsh had seen fit to provide.

The rotary evaporator itself was also badly damaged; it made a whirring sound, then a whining sound, and then, the computer control box died.

Mac shot his father a _look,_ and Jim rolled his eyes.

‘ _You’re_ the one who keeps saying that we’re running out of time, Angus.’ Mac huffed and rolled his eyes back, muttering something unflattering about his dad under his breath. Jim gestured at the machine in front of them. ‘And we’re wasting time _now_ ; this is going to need new seals and probably a re-wire…’

Mac muttered, _I know, I’m not eight anymore_ , but took out his Swiss Army knife and got to work disassembling the machine.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Mac and his dad exchanged a look over the disassembled, partially-reassembled rotary evaporator.

(At least, that’s what it’d look like to anyone else. The ‘partially-reassembled/repaired’ bits of the rotary evaporator were certainly not suited to rotary evaporation.)

Getting covered in ethyl acetate and broken glass wasn’t _fun,_ but it’d served its purpose.

They had a message from the team.

_Ten minutes._

* * *

**TEN MINUTES LATER**

* * *

Mac moved one of the lab benches to barricade the door leading into the lab (the one that wasn’t bolted shut already, anyway), then started grabbing chemicals off the shelves and mixing them together.

Jim, meanwhile, grabbed Beth by the arm and pulled her between the fridge and the wall, crouching down.

He pulled out his Swiss Army knife, and gestured at the shock collar.

‘We’ve blocked the transmission, but knowing Jonah, he’s booby-trapped it against the possibility of us removing it. This…this will probably hurt, Beth.’

The doctor swallowed, and gave a shaky but very good attempt at a wry smile and witty quip.

‘You know, I expected the worst that could come from befriending a lonely former patient battling cancer was being hauled in front of the hospital ethics committee…’

Guilt crossed Jim’s face at that. She’d had no idea, was an innocent caught in the spider’s web…had fallen into the world of a shadow genius, to borrow Mason’s words (horrifying, but also oh-so-true, oh-so-accurate), completely unaware.

‘I’m sorry.’

(Apologising had gotten easier, for some reason.)

Beth shook her head, tilting her chin up a little with fierce determination. Courage.

‘Doing the right thing sometimes comes at a cost.’ She gestured at the collar. ‘Do it.’

As soon as he touched the mechanism that locked it on, she tensed in pain, bit hard on her lip until it was bloody and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from screaming.

Jim worked as fast as he could, and once he got it off, had to resist the urge to throw the abhorrent object across the room or stomp on it until it was in a thousand pieces.

It might be useful.

‘Stay here.’ Beth, eyes full of tears, blood dribbling from her lip, nodded, drawing in deep breaths. Jim got up and called out to his son. ‘Angus?’

Mac tossed him a couple of beakers full of liquid, the tops sealed with disposable gloves, and Jim aimed carefully, then lobbed them at the bolted-shut back door of the lab.

As soon as he had, he turned, and went and grabbed Beth by the forearm again, just as the barricade to the front door of the lab started to give.

Mac, a pile of beakers and flasks and weirdly-inflated gloves next to him and situated behind a barricade of lab tables, gestured at the clearing smoke billowing from what had formerly been the bolted-shut back door and tossed some of his makeshift weapons at his dad.

‘Go! I’ll hold him off!’

He lobbed one of the beakers at the front door as it opened, and Jim tightened his grip on Beth’s wrist, and they ran.

* * *

Jim punctured the glove in his hand just as he was punching one of Walsh’s goons in the face, causing the man to immediately lose consciousness.

Meanwhile, a little further down the corridor (he’d ordered her to run), Beth gave a startled yelp as Riley and a couple of tac-team members, all of them armed, turned the corner and came into view.

Riley lowered her weapon slightly, and Jim caught Beth’s eye, gestured to Riley.

‘They’re friends, go with them, Beth.’ He looked over at Riley. ‘Agent Davis?’

Riley nodded.

‘Come on, Doc, let’s get out of here…’

Beth followed her, but glanced back at Jim, who had caught the gun one of the tac-team had tossed at him, as well as the spare ammo clips.

‘Jim?’

There was an angry, obsessive, almost _dark_ look in his eyes. Something cold, flinty. His voice was clipped when he spoke.

‘Jonah is _not_ getting away this time.’

He jogged back off in the direction they’d come.

* * *

‘…brother, we _really_ need to talk ‘bout you and Big Mac’s choice of bonding activities!’

Jack, taking cover behind a pillar, ducked out quickly and fired off a few shots at Walsh. He got the man in the right forearm, but Walsh just grit his teeth, changed his weapon to his left, and got off a few return shots at Jack, forcing him to take cover again.

(Thankfully, Walsh’s aim with his left was notably poorer.)

‘Trust me, I’d take fishing over hostage rescue any day, but I didn’t exactly get a choice in the matter!’

Mac ducked out from behind his own pillar and lobbed a conical flask full of fuming liquid at the beam above Walsh’s head. It released a large amount of smoke, which would hopefully slow Walsh’s attempt to escape as he and Jack chased the villain through the warehouse, locked in a stalemate.

The heavy smoke was still being produced when they heard several grunts of pain, then the sound of someone falling to the floor, and then, a single gunshot.

Mac and Jack exchanged a glance, then put their elbows over their mouths and ran into the smoke as it dissipated.

Jonah Walsh was on the ground, rolling to destroy the shock collar that’d apparently landed on his back and given him a substantial shock, all the while clutching a hand to the bullet hole in his right shoulder.

And standing over him was James MacGyver, eyes still full of anger (and underlying guilt), and cold with a savage kind of satisfaction, and simultaneously lighter with relief.

* * *

Several minutes later, Jim, Mac and Jack led Walsh, his wound field-dressed, his hands cuffed securely together, out of the warehouse.

Dr Taylor was sitting on the edge of the back of the van, arms wrapped around herself. Bozer was sitting next to her, apparently telling a story based on how animated he was, but she didn’t seem to be listening.

Her eyes grew very wide as Walsh was led out, and a beat later, she burst into tears.

The poor woman had had a very terrible twenty-four hours or so, and Mac was honestly impressed with her strength of will and courage, but everyone had their limits, and she seemed to have just hit hers.

He locked eyes with his father, gestured towards her.

His dad hesitated, glancing at Walsh, who just gave a lazy smirk. Jack jostled him a little more roughly than necessary as they kept leading him towards a waiting FBI vehicle and escort that Matty had arranged.

‘We’ve got this.’

Jack nodded, backing his partner up, and with one last glance at Walsh, Jim jogged off, sitting down in the back of the van next to his friend, and a little awkwardly, shrugging out of his jacket and settling it around her shoulders.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Several hours later, very late at night, Mac walked up to the wall of glass that looked into the Phoenix’s infirmary, where his father was standing.

Inside, Dr Taylor was sitting up in an infirmary bed, nibbling on a chocolate bar and listening to Bozer, who was sitting on a chair next to her bed, tell a story. Mac would put money on the story being an embarrassing one about the MacGyvers from his childhood. She was smiling, and even giggled as Bozer’s story reached its climax.

And there was that look in his dad’s eyes again, that anger-guilt-worry-affection-pride.

Mac crossed his arms, waited for his dad to look at him, then locked eyes with him.

‘We have to do better for her than WitSec.’ His jaw grew set. ‘I don’t care if WitSec is bad, and worse would be her dead, _we owe her._ ’ He paused. ‘ _You_ owe her. She got dragged into all this because she saw a lonely man fighting cancer and was kind to him.’

She’d already paid a terrible price.

Mac would _not_ let that price get any higher.

To his surprise, his dad didn’t argue, didn’t start lecturing him about bad and worse again.

Instead, he just swallowed, glancing at his young friend, then back at his son.

‘I know, Angus. I know.’

There were footsteps behind them, and the MacGyvers turned to find Matty standing behind them, as well as Dr Farnham, a former Army doctor, now the Phoenix’s senior medic.

Matty held out a folder to Mac, who took it and opened it, to find a background check and psych profile on Dr Bethany H. Taylor, dated _several months ago._

He raised an eyebrow and shot his dad a _look._ The look his dad shot back was very much, _can you blame me?_

Matty spoke as soon as the MacGyvers’ silent conversation was done.

‘Graduated high school at sixteen, pre-med at Purdue at nineteen, medical school at Northwestern at twenty-two. ER residency at a hospital in one of the most disadvantaged areas of Detroit, followed by a year with MSF in Syria.’ Matty gestured at the file. ‘She’s exceptional, and the Phoenix hires exceptional people.’

Dr Farnham chipped in, a slightly-wry, very long-suffering tone in his voice.

‘She can apparently convince a MacGyver to submit to proper medical care. That’s more than enough for me.’

(Jim might be the boss, and Mac might be the Phoenix’s star agent, but they were also famously huge pains in the backsides of the infirmary staff.)

Mac and Jim glanced back into the infirmary, where Dr Taylor now appeared to be telling Bozer a story (probably an embarrassing or funny one about Jim, given how Bozer was chortling and clapping and the sheepish little smile on her face).

Mac gave a smile (a touch of a burden in it) and nodded. This was the best possible outcome for her, now. Besides, he _had_ thought that she’d fit right in, and he stood by it even more now.

And a medic his dad listened to was definitely a good thing.

_Yes, I know. I have never claimed to not be a hypocrite._

Jim, meanwhile, nodded too, and smiled, a load lifting off his shoulders, relief and a touch of pride in his eyes.

He glanced down at Matty, who just smiled up at him.

‘Let’s draw up that contract.’

* * *

The following afternoon, Mac stood outside the war room. The glass was unfrosted, and inside, his dad and Matty were talking.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned to find Dr Taylor coming up the stairs. Wardrobe had dug out some clothes for her to wear, but she still had his dad’s jacket on, and her arms were wrapped around herself, holding the jacket closed.

She gave him a little smile, and after what seemed to be a moment’s hesitation, walked over and stood next to him. After another, longer moment of hesitation, she broke the silence, gesturing a little awkwardly with her head towards his dad.

‘Your dad…he has a lot of regrets. And you, well, have a lot of anger, which is _definitely_ justified.’ He and his dad had told her about Mason that morning. _Everything_ about Mason, the whole truth and nothing but it. They’d had to, given that she was a target for him now. Dr Taylor seemed a little socially awkward, but she’d have had to be completely unobservant to not pick up on the heavy undercurrent of tension that’d been there when the MacGyvers had briefed her. She swallowed, toying with the sleeves of the coat, which were too long for her. ‘I’m…I’m not saying you should forgive him, or even stop being mad at him, because, well, honestly, he _deserves_ it…’ She looked sheepish and awkward and apologetic, like she was kicking herself internally. ‘…I don’t know, sorry, it’s not my business, it’s just…’ She looked into the war room. ‘I don’t think the Jim you know is the same as the one I know.’

She sounded confused and questioning and a little hurt.

All things that Mac was very familiar with when it came to his father. He, too, looked at his dad in the war room.

‘And you’re wondering which one is the real Jim MacGyver?’ He glanced down at her, and she nodded. ‘Yeah, me too. Sometimes…I think it’s both.’

His dad was a hero. His dad was the shadow genius who gambled lives, weighed up their worth against each other. His dad was a good man, and a loving father striving to do better. His dad was a great man (but not a good one), who’d abandoned his only child and manipulated his life.

Dr Taylor gave a wry little smile.

‘Like resonance structures? The truth is somewhere in the middle?’

Mac looked back at his dad again. Matty had her hands on her hips and was emphasising some kind of point to him, while his father raised an eyebrow at her, then eventually shook his head and nodded, a little smile on his face.

‘Yeah, I think you might be right, Doc.’

There were more footsteps behind them, and they turned to see Jack, Bozer, Riley and Leanna coming up the stairs.

Bozer grinned and spread his arms wide.

‘Hey bro, Lil’ Doc, we were just gonna go grab some brunch.’

Riley chipped in.

‘Wanna come with?’

Bozer continued, grinning and pointing at Dr Taylor.

‘My finely-tuned double-O-Boze instincts are telling me that someone could really go for a crab Benedict!’

Behind Bozer’s back, Riley and Leanna exchanged a long-suffering, exasperated, fond _why do we love this idiot?_ glance, which made Dr Taylor give a very amused (and slightly sheepish) smile. She nodded, and took a step forward to fall into step with Bozer as he led the group closer to the exit.

‘That _would_ be nice.’

Jack glanced between his partner and their boss and their boss’s boss in the war room, then back at Bozer.

‘Actually, Boze, order me one of those breakfast burgers with extra bacon, and get Mac his usual…’ Mac really, really liked breakfast sandwiches on poppyseed bagels. Knowing Bozer, he’d order his BFF two. ‘…we’ll be along in a sec.’

Bozer, very unsubtly, glanced between the MacGyvers, then pointed at Jack as if to say, _I know what you’re doing, good job, man!_ Then, Leanna grabbed his hand and led him off gently.

Jack, meanwhile, turned to Mac, who’d pulled a paperclip from his pocket and was unwinding it.

He gestured with his head at the older MacGyver, who had taken a paperclip from the bowl and was also unwinding it as Matty talked with someone on her tablet.

‘You should talk to him, son. Really talk.’ Mac turned his head to look at Jack, who spread his palms wide. ‘Communication, brother, it’s all about communication.’

Slowly, Mac nodded.

‘As a wise man once told me.’

‘Your grandpa?’

Mac smiled, wide and easy and grateful and full of so much love.

‘Nope.’

It’d been Jack who’d nudged him about sending that letter.

It’d been Jack who’d nudged him to just go talk to the man as they’d ridden through the woods in Mexico.

_He might not look it, or sound it, or act it…but he’s one of the wisest men I know._

_Maybe even the wisest._

_Just don’t tell him I said that._

Jack smiled back at him, and clapped him on the back. Mac returned the gesture, then walked over to the war room door and knocked.

* * *

As the door closed behind Matty, Mac took a seat in an armchair, opposite his father.

‘We need to talk.’ Jim let out a long breath, then nodded in response. Mac took a deep breath too, trying to rein in his anger, somewhat. (He felt he had to let it show, but this descending into a screaming match was not going to do anyone any good.) ‘You decided that my life was worth more than Mason’s son’s. You decided my life was worth more than any or all of those Marines.’

Jim swallowed and looked his son dead in the eye.

‘Objectively, it is.’ Mac gaped at him. At that moment, he was definitely talking to Oversight, not Jim. ‘Look at all the lives you’ve saved, Angus, all the lives you will save-‘

Mac, utterly incredulous and absolutely furious, flung out a hand and interrupted.

‘Tell that to their families! Tell that to Mason!’ He jumped up. ‘The worth of a life is not for you to decide!’

His dad swallowed, looked down, ran a hand through his hair. Then, after a moment of tense silence as Mac tried to reign his temper in again, he looked up at the younger MacGyver and spoke, his voice softer, a distinct note of desperation and something painful in there.

‘I love you, Angus. You’re my _son._ Mason decided that his son’s life was worth more than-‘

The anger bubbled up in Mac again, and this time, he couldn’t even start to restrain it.

‘Hardly a good role model!’ He whirled around and looked his father dead in the eye. ‘If the way you show you love me is ordering other people to _die_ for me, I’d rather you didn’t love me!’

His dad flinched as if Mac had struck him, and flung a hand out.

‘What would you have me do? Let you be tortured to death?’

‘ _Find another way_! You’re so smart, so capable, you taught me yourself, there’s always another way-‘

Jim jumped out of his seat as Mac yelled at him.

‘Until one day, there isn’t, and you have to choose between bad and worse!’ He took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself, and sat down again. That made Mac take a breath too, and some of the fight left him, and he started pacing around the war room instead. ‘Angus…’ Mac looked up from the floor and at his father, who swallowed and continued, his voice quiet, open, like it had been when he’d asked him to respect his wishes regarding his cancer treatment, what felt like months and months ago. ‘I swear it wasn’t an easy choice. I swear the worse stays with me, and always will.’ He paused, ran a hand through his hair again, shook his head. ‘Hell, if I believed in karma, I’d say this…’ He gestured vaguely, and could have meant his illness or their renewed estrangement or both. ‘…is payback.’

He sank back into his seat, almost _defeated._ Definitely resigned.

Mac stared at him for a long, long moment.

Choosing between bad and worse…that seemed to really torture his father.

And maybe…maybe there _did_ need to be people who could make that choice.

(Maybe one day, there wouldn’t be another way.)

(There hadn’t been for Zoe, or for Charlie.)

(Maybe one day there’d be no cavalry, maybe one day, there wouldn’t be someone brave and good and strong and noble enough to sacrifice themselves, like Zoe had, like Charlie had.)

He was never going to be one of those who could make that choice.

(Charlie had made that choice for him.)

His dad, on the other hand…

But maybe the world needed people like him, and maybe the world needed people like his dad. He would rather it didn’t, would do everything he could as just one of billions to change that, but it was also the way it was.

(Mac had been told he was guileless and naïve and idealistic, but he wasn’t an idiot.)

So, he sat down, locked eyes with his father, and offered an olive branch.

‘Promise me you won’t ever do that again. Promise me you won’t choose me over innocent lives ever again.’

* * *

Jim stared at his son for a long, long moment.

What Angus was asking him for…

It was a promise that he would do everything in his power to keep, but one day, maybe (hopefully not), he’d have no choice but to break it.

(Bad and worse.)

He’d lose his son for good if (when?) that happened.

(If he lied, if he kept that from Angus again…he’d never be able to live with himself. Ellen’s memory would give him no peace. Heck, Matty would know, and somehow, he suspected Beth would find out, and neither woman would let it go.)

But he knew an olive branch when he saw one, and who knew how much time he had left?

He’d make this promise and do everything he could to keep it.

(Angus had to know, deep down, intellectually, that when it came down to it, one day, what choice he’d make.)

‘I promise, son.’

Angus nodded, let out a sigh of relief, and got up.

‘Thanks…Dad.’

With another nod, he strode out of the war room to join his friends for brunch.

* * *

Jim sat in his armchair, staring at the bowl of paperclips on the table for an indeterminate amount of time, until the door opened again, and in strode Matty, carrying a couple of round, paper-wrapped sandwiches.

She tossed one at Jim, who smiled and opened it to reveal a poppyseed bagel breakfast sandwich.

Matty sat down in the armchair Mac had vacated, unwrapping her own sandwich, and raised an eyebrow at Jim in a question. He just nodded slowly, and her expression softened.

‘You’re doing better, Jim.’

He quirked an eyebrow at her, a half-wry and self-deprecating, half-bitter and self-admonishing look on his face.

‘But not well?’

Matty Webber, being Matty Webber, just looked him straight in the eye and nodded.

‘Not yet.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this was a tricky one to write…The dynamic between the MacGyvers was pretty wild during Season 3 in terms of how quickly it changed. Going from being estranged but building bridges, to being super-close and fluffy, to being estranged again…this was my attempt to work on resolving the new estrangement between Mac and Jim (which is really hard to do, since it comes down to a fundamental difference in how they view the world and their morality), as well as explain Jim’s sudden character change from 3.05 to 3.17 and onwards (especially in 3.20). I hope you guys enjoyed it! (It was a little short on Jack, Bozer and Riley especially, but the next one has plenty of the OG team, and I really felt Mac and Jim needed an ep to deal with their relationship, and Jim needed some character development and an explanation of his character development.)
> 
> There will be an episode tag for _Moments So Dear_ for this, it’ll be up on Tuesday, and here’s the summary:
> 
> Better, tag to 4.03, Bad/Worse. The MacGyvers upgrade Dr Taylor’s home security (and destroy her appliances). Mac gains an insight into why her friendship means so much to his father. 
> 
> And here’s the press release for the next ep:
> 
> 4.04, Ordinary/Extraordinary. When a device with the potential to trigger an apocalyptic event is stolen from The Smithsonian, the team must recover it before it’s too late. Meanwhile, Matty and Jim deal with the boring bits of running a top-secret spy organization.
> 
> Unfortunately – this will not post next week, as I’m exhausted and a bit sick and have been very stressed (plus have first year lab reports to mark), and just won’t have it in a state I’m happy with by next week. There’ll be a one-week hiatus, and 4.04 will post on the 16th. See you then!


	4. Ordinary/Extraordinary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a device with the potential to trigger an apocalyptic event is stolen from The Smithsonian, the team must recover it before it’s too late. Meanwhile, Matty and Jim deal with the boring bits of running a top-secret spy organization.

**ONE OF THE HOTTEST BARS IN LA**

**LA**

* * *

‘Hey, girlfriend!’

Leanna, wearing a burgundy dress and black heels, her makeup perfectly done and sitting at a VIP table, got up and smiled at Riley as the other woman, in an equally-flattering navy blue dress with gold accessories, walked in and spotted her.

They hugged, then sat down, and Leanna nudged the cocktail she’d already ordered for her friend over.

Riley took a sip, then looked around and nodded appreciatively, before turning back to Leanna as the other woman spoke.

‘No Desi?’

Riley shook her head.

‘You know her and work…’

The two women nodded knowingly, fond, wry little smiles on their faces, then raised their glasses in a toast. As their glasses clinked together, Leanna, with a bit of a twinkle in her eye, spoke again.

‘To friends we wish were here.’

Riley inclined her head in agreement, her own smile widening, then leaned back in her seat to take another look around the bar.

* * *

**FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER**

* * *

‘…I really wish Desi was here!’

Riley kicked one of the cartel leader’s goons hard in the stomach, before ducking a punch from a second, then grabbing his wrist to use his momentum against him.

Meanwhile, Leanna shot another goon with his own gun, which she’d cleverly stolen, before getting a second with a Vulcan nerve pinch.

‘Girls’ night out would be _so_ much more fun with her!’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…I can’t believe you, man, I can’t believe you! Thought you, of all people, would appreciate our boy’s improv skills!’

A very huffy Jack walked into the war room, followed by his partner, who had his hands up placatingly, then Bozer, who was listening intently, and lastly, Riley, who was mid-eye-roll.

‘I _do_ appreciate McClane’s improv skills, but you specified that it was an, I quote, _epic one-on-one, mano-e-mano in outer space._ In that environment, Boba Fett, who comes from a technologically-superior galaxy in which space travel is the norm, would have an insurmountable advantage.’

As if to emphasise that that was the end of the debate, Mac turned away from his partner, grabbed a paperclip from the bowl, and looked towards the big screen at the front, next to which Matty was standing, ready to start their mission briefing.

Bozer had just opened his mouth to interject when a _look_ from their boss stopped him. He closed his mouth firmly and looked a little sheepish, and Matty, an eyebrow still slightly quirked, started the briefing.

A few taps on her tablet and several images appeared on the big screen.

An aerial view of the Smithsonian, a spaceship thing that Jack remembered from _Apollo 13_ as the Lunar Module, and some electronic getup (there was an antenna attached to a reasonably box-like thingy) that actually gave Mac pause.

(Maybe it would have made the rest of them do that too, if they knew what it was.)

‘Last night, unknown robbers broke into the Smithsonian.’ The map of the Smithsonian zoomed in on the National Air and Space Museum. ‘Instead of going for any number of extremely valuable artefacts that could net millions on the black market, they took only one thing: the main transmitter from the Apollo 11 Lunar Module.’

Matty tapped the screen, and the picture of the electronic thingy became the centre photo. Meanwhile, Mac’s eyes widened and he almost dropped his paperclip. Riley, too, paused, and a look of very concerned realization crossed her face.

Meanwhile, Jack and Bozer exchanged a glance, worried as well. They had no idea what in the world baddies could do with the Lunar Module’s main transmitter, but given Mac and Riley’s reactions, it had to be really bad.

Jack crossed his arms, glancing at Mac, then at Matty, in turn.

‘Okay, I get it’s real bad, but _why_ is it bad that someone stole some fancy space thing?’

Mac stepped forward, gesturing at the transmitter on the screen.

‘This is a really, really powerful transmitting device. It emits an UHF – that’s ultra-high frequency – radio signal that could travel from the Moon to the Earth; if that signal is transmitted on Earth, it could reach just about every device on the planet that uses UHF, which is…a lot. TV, microwaves, mobile phones, most forms of radio, GPS, Bluetooth, Wi-Fi…’

Jack blinked.

‘Yeah, that doesn’t sound good.’

Matty arched an eyebrow at him, putting her free hand on her hip.

‘It’s more than _not good,_ Jack. With that transmitter, the thieves can disrupt the entire world’s ability to communicate and navigate.’

Bozer shook his head.

‘It’d be chaos. Apocalyptic chaos.’

It was bad enough when Mac accidentally took out their Wi-Fi or destroyed his phone. That, on a worldwide scale, possibly made even worse by the unknown baddies not just knocking out the Wi-Fi or their phones, but twisting it for their own evil gain, would really be apocalyptic, given how device-dependent the world had become.

Riley crossed her arms, gesturing at the screen.

‘Yeah, but shouldn’t the transmitter have been disabled before it went on display?’

Jack continued.

‘And of course, we all know our boy could make it work again, but the baddies ain’t got him, so we shouldn’t have to worry ‘bout the great Dial-a-pocalypse, eh?’

Mac, Bozer and Riley made near-identical faces at Jack’s terrible pun. Matty, however, couldn’t laugh at the picture they made, and just shook her head, expression set.

‘Apparently, it wasn’t.’

As soon as she found out who was responsible for that oversight, she was going to have to have a good, long _chat_ with them.

The team exchanged a glance, and Bozer, being Bozer, broke the slightly-tense, worried silence.

‘Well, we haven’t saved the world for, like, two weeks…’

That got a round of little smiles, even out of Matty, who gestured at the door.

‘You’re wheels-up for D.C. in thirty. Find the thieves, take them out and get that transmitter back, preferably in one piece.’

If it came down to it, averting a potential apocalyptic event was more important, but the transmitter was an important historical artefact, after all.

Jack grinned as they all filed out.

‘So the Tuesday usual, right, boss?’

Matty arched an eyebrow at him, but as the door closed, gave a fond snort.

Jack would never change.

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**SOMEWHERE OVER THE MID-WEST**

**ON-ROUTE TO WASHINGTON D.C.**

* * *

‘…the National Air and Space Collection contains over 60,000 separate objects, ranging from the _Discovery_ space shuttle to astronaut survival kits from several missions, to heat shield samples and clamps, bolts and washers from spacecraft from missions ranging from Mercury to the space shuttles!’

Mac sounded equally excited about space-bolts and space-washers and bits of heat shields as the space shuttle itself, which, Jack guessed, wasn’t exactly normal.

(Even he had to admit that the space shuttle was pretty cool, but who wanted to stare at a bolt?)

He rolled his eyes, because that was the _fifth_ time his partner had repeated some variant of that fact ever since they’d left LA, and gesticulated dramatically at Bozer and Riley.

‘Seriously, what did I do to get this mission to nerd-vana?’ Jack huffed, crossing his arms, as Bozer and Riley looked sceptically at him, eyebrows going up. They exchanged a look and a head-shake, then turned back to their work. Riley shifted her headphones and returned to reviewing the Smithsonian’s cybersecurity, while Bozer looked back down at his laptop to continue to watch CCTV footage. Jack huffed again, and turned back to Mac, who, to his credit, looked sheepish and appeared to have been muttering under his breath to himself to _be professional, MacGyver, be professional._ ‘I mean it, brother! I already had to put up with you going all mad-scientist with those powders for, like, a week, and now this?’

Mac had put together a spicy ranch flavouring, entirely in highly-concentrated powder form, for Desi. It’d been sent off the day before as part of a parcel for her from the Phoenix, a ‘care package’ of intel, weaponry and a gadget or two.

It’d involved a solid week of him muttering under his breath, reading about food chemistry, generally acting like a crazier, younger, science-ier Alton Brown, and trying to make Jack taste the powder, to check it tasted like spicy ranch to him.

(Jack had refused. He didn’t recognize – or remember – the names of most of the weird powders that Mac was mixing together.)

(The younger man insisted that they were all perfectly safe to eat, though not necessarily good for you, and that Jack ate them all the time, but Jack wasn’t risking it.)

(His body was a finely-tuned, lean, mean fighting machine!)

Mac rolled his eyes at Jack, before returning to his work (reviewing the Smithsonian catalogue) admonishing himself under his breath again to be professional, before his eyes lit up like a kid’s in a candy store.

Behind his own tablet, which had the Smithsonian’s guard rotation and placement on it, Jack gave a fondly exasperated little smile.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…is there anything else, Mandy?’

In her office, Matty looked up at the thirty-something Asian woman, Amanda Liu from Phoenix HR, as they and Oversight finished reviewing the new 401k policy.

Mandy glanced at Oversight with the tiniest bit of hesitation (HR, being HR, was privy to his real identity), then pulled out another file.

‘Well, Cal from Cartography has filed yet another HR complaint against Agent MacGyver.’

Matty sighed, and Jim simply reached out to take the file from the younger woman, a rather resigned look on his face. He glanced at it, then looked over at Matty, who had an eyebrow arched at him in question, and spoke dryly.

‘Angus destroyed the panini press in the breakroom. Yet again.’

* * *

**NATIONAL AIR AND SPACE MUSEUM**

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

* * *

As the Museum’s director, Director Coleman, left after leading them to the cordoned-off area teeming with FBI forensic techs and extracting a promise that they’d do everything they could to recover the transmitter in one piece, Bozer leaned over to Riley and Jack, and stage-whispered as Mac did something that could only be described as fanboying over Toolkit No. 1 from the Skylab.

‘When we were kids, everyone wanted to go to Disney World for Spring Break. Except my homeboy, who kept begging for a trip to the Smithsonian.’

Jack and Riley shook their heads with fond exasperation, as Mac started discussing the forensic findings with a tech, only to get distracted by the Apollo Survival Kit on display as the tech pulled up results on his laptop. The sheepish look that crossed his face, followed by the admonishment he muttered to himself to _be professional, focus, lives are on the line_ , _MacGyver_ as he turned his attention back to the task at hand was obvious, even from ten feet away.

‘Nerd.’

‘Mac had a space phase, didn’t he?’

After all, he continued to insist that he’d not gone to Prom in his Junior year after being shot down cold by Darlene Martin because he’d wanted to stay home and watch a live shuttle launch.

(Not that anyone believed him.)

Bozer snorted, and shook his head, with the long-suffering, affectionate air of someone who’d loved, looked after and listened to Angus MacGyver, crazy-weird-mad-scientist-genius-puppy, for most of his life.

‘More like _several.’_ He paused. ‘And I don’t think the last one’s over yet.’

* * *

‘No fingerprints.’

‘No DNA.’

‘No fibres.’

‘No signs of breaking and entering.’

‘No sign of anyone on CCTV except the security guards.’

Mac, Jack, Bozer and Riley exchanged a glance.

‘These robbers were really good.’

There were collective frustrated sighs and nods at Bozer’s words, before they were interrupted by one of the forensic techs.

‘We’ve got the trace evidence analysis back.’

The Phoenix agents exchanged a glance.

Hopefully there was something (anything) that could lead them to the thieves in there.

Or else…

No, Mac told himself, he was not thinking about that.

* * *

‘...and silicone.’ Mac, looking over the shoulder of the forensic tech at his computer, which showed the data from the trace evidence analysis, furrowed his brow, brain ticking into overdrive. ‘Wait…can you go back to the LC-MS trace?’ Obviously in the grip of an idea, he pointed at one of the peaks of the weird, sorta-mountain-range-shaped line on the screen. ‘That was calcium sulfate, right?’

The tech nodded, and Mac turned, pointing at his best friend, a hint of a grin-smirk on his face.

‘Gypsum and silicone, Boze.’

That same expression appeared on Bozer’s face.

‘It’s what I use when I make prosthetics.’

Realization crossed Jack and Riley’s faces, too.

‘So _that’s_ why we only ever saw security guards on the CCTV…’

‘Baddies decided to impersonate ‘em!’

* * *

An hour later, Bozer, deep in CCTV footage, scouring it with his sharp, experienced eyes that could notice (hopefully) a detail or two, a giveaway, that none of the rest of them could, pointed at one of the guards, a man in his early thirties with dark hair pulled into a messy man-bun and a good smattering of freckles.

‘Him. That’s…that’s not his nose. Or his jawline.’

Jack crossed his arms.

‘What about his hair? Nobody’s can be that luxuriant!’

The three younger agents all glanced at each other, suppressing snickers.

Jack’s hair was greyer and thinner now than it’d been before he’d had to leave to go hunt Kovac. Whether it was the stress of that, or simply a result of ageing, they would never know.

Mac smirked at his partner.

‘Sure, old man, sure.’ Before Jack could do more than glare at him, Mac changed the topic back to the mission at hand, thereby making sure the older man couldn’t interject with a snappy retort (averting a potential apocalypse being far more important). ‘Riley, what’s his name?’

The hacker was already typing before Mac could finish speaking.

‘Allen Bolton, lives in a condo in Alexandria…’

* * *

**ALLEN BOLTON’S CONDO**

**ALEXANDRIA**

* * *

Jack made a face as he stepped out of the bathroom, leaving Mac standing there, gloves and a surgical mask on, examining the kitty-litter-covered body in the bathtub.

It’d been a pretty undignified end for Allen Bolton. Poor guy.

He dialled Riley’s number and brought his phone up to his ear.

‘Yeah, the not-Allen we saw on CCTV was definitely not Allen; Mac says he’s been dead a week…’ Jack made a face. ‘…based on the maggots.’

‘Ugh…’He could practically see the disgusted look on the young woman’s face. ‘I did _not_ need to know that, Jack.’

‘Yeah, well, if I gotta live with it, so do you, Ri.’ He took a look around Allen Bolton’s apartment, which was covered with takeout containers and video game posters. ‘Gotta say, I ain’t all that surprised that no-one noticed him being dead and impersonated and all; kitty litter’s real good at soaking up all the smells, and he seems like a loser-loner type…’

* * *

**BORROWED CAR**

**(ACTUALLY BORROWED THIS TIME)**

**(PROMISE!)**

**ON-ROUTE BACK TO THE NATIONAL AIR AND SPACE MUSEUM**

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

* * *

‘…I’ve got a program tracking the fake Allen Bolton through CCTV, ATM cameras and social media posts, Boze and I are putting together a timeline of his movements, it should be done by the time you get back-‘

Jack interrupted as he drove, looking utterly horrified…and also vindicated.

‘Big Brother’s watching us! I knew it, brother, I knew it!’

Mac glanced at his partner, surprised.

‘You’ve read _1984?_ ’

Jack just looked confused.

‘How can you read a year, man?’

Mac let out what could only be described as a little exasperated sigh, and shook his head.

‘Never mind.’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘We need a budget increase.’ Walter, from the Phoenix’s wardrobe team, a forty-something man with close-cropped hair, multiple ear piercings and wearing a very sharp waistcoat today (he had an even greater variety of clothes in his wardrobe than Bozer), spoke with little preamble as he walked into Matty’s office for his scheduled meeting with the Phoenix’s Director of Operations and Oversight. ‘Do you know how hard being a secret agent is on clothing?’ He gestured at the file he’d placed in front of his superiors, which was full of photos of damaged garments, flinging a hand into the air. ‘Most of what we get back, we can never use again!’

Oversight and Matty calmly examined the photos, as a vehement Walter sat across from them, arms stubbornly crossed. Oversight quirked an eyebrow as he examined the photos of a suit and an evening gown that’d been used for a recent op. The suit jacket was missing a sleeve, and the white shirt was stained with blood. There were grass stains all over the bottom of the evening gown, and the matching high heels were quite literally encrusted with mud. Another photo showed a series of Hawaiian shirts, which were all stained with a mixture of what looked like red wine, chocolate and grass, as well as covered in sand.

(It was almost as bad as glitter in terms of getting everywhere. Jim had conducted a series of experiments to prove that and quantify just how much.)

(It’d not been one of his better ideas; he’d kept finding glitter on himself, in his garage and all over his clothes for months.)

Finally, Oversight looked up at the senior member of the Wardrobe team.

‘Walter, I can get Agent MacGyver to make up a fresh batch of his improved laundry detergent, which would at least remove the staining that-‘

‘We are _not_ using that.’ Walter’s tone brooked absolutely no argument. In fact, he seemed almost insulted. ‘It turned Bozer’s laundry _pink_! That would _ruin_ all our clothes!’

‘He fixed that issue, but if it’ll put your mind at ease, I will personally verify the chemistry myself.’

Walter looked _supremely_ unconvinced.

In fact, he seemed to be settling in for a very long argument.

(Internally, Jim sighed.)

(Firstly, this was the dullest, most boring, and most time-consuming part of running a secretive government organization. He just knew he was going to be working far, far more overtime than usual to prepare that briefing on the Yemen situation for the Joint Chiefs, because he had to do this first, or the Phoenix would simply cease to function.)

(Secondly, he really didn’t want to approve the budget increase for Wardrobe that Walter was asking for; the Phoenix simply couldn’t afford it. Their budget, contrary to what a lot of the field agents seemed to believe, was _not_ bottomless.)

Matty glanced between the two men, and internally, also sighed.

(She didn’t exactly enjoy this part either, but it had to be done.)

Adopting a conciliatory tone, laced with steel, like she was daring them to challenge her, she laid out a compromise.

‘Walter, we’ll increase the Wardrobe budget by a third of the amount that you’re asking for. At the same time, we’ll get Mac to make up some of his miracle detergent, and you can run some tests on the already-ruined clothes.’ There was no limit to the supply of that, and they could get more ruined, but not more useless at least. ‘We’ll review the budget and the status of Wardrobe’s supplies again in two months, gentlemen.’

Oversight nodded.

‘Excellent idea, Matilda.’

Walter from Wardrobe didn’t look exactly happy (he really liked to shop, and thus enjoyed it a lot when it was his actual job), but did look satisfied, and nodded, gathering up his files.

As he left, Jim shot Matty a grateful little smile.

‘Thank you.’

Matty just smiled back in a way that was almost a smirk.

‘And that is why you pay me the big bucks, Jim.’

He snorted and shook his head in a way that could only be described as fond.

‘You’re not getting a pay rise, Matilda.’

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**ON THE TARMAC**

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

* * *

‘…so the fake-Allen walks into a bathroom and never comes out again?’ Jack flung his hands up in the air as Riley nodded. Her program (which still horrified Jack) had tracked the Allen Bolton impersonator into a mall bathroom, seven hours ago, from which he’d apparently yet to emerge. Mall security had checked, and he hadn’t been killed. Mac had spent the last ten minutes poring over the bathroom plans and the mall’s plans, trying to work out how to escape that bathroom without being spotted, but had yet to come up with anything that’d work. He’d simply vanished. ‘I don’t like this joke!’

_Presumably, Jack’s referencing the famous joke variant that begins with ‘a man – or some other being or beings – walks into a bar…’_

_I, for one, have never heard of a bathroom variant._

_But you know that never stops Jack._

Riley rolled her eyes.

‘Yeah, we don’t like it either, Jack…’

Mac looked up from the plans he was staring at, then jumped up and started pacing through the ‘Batcave.’

‘The Allen Bolton impersonator didn’t leave the bathroom via the door. He couldn’t have snuck out…’ Mac hadn’t come up with even a half-baked, Hail-Mary way of doing it in ten minutes of trying, or even the ghost of the idea of one. ‘…and he’s not dead.’ Mac paused in his pacing. ‘If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. The so-called Allen Bolton never left the bathroom.’

They all stared at him as if he were crazy.

‘But-‘

‘He’s not there anymore, bro.’

‘…Son, I love you, but I reckon you’ve finally lost it.’

Mac shook his head, a clear half-smirk on his face.

‘Nope, haven’t lost it, sorry, Jack.’ He gestured at Riley’s laptop. ‘Play back the CCTV footage, roughly fifteen to twenty minutes after he enters?’

* * *

‘…there, pause it.’ Riley did as told, pausing the video as a man dressed in chinos and a preppy sweater with blonde hair not too dissimilar to Mac’s, though it was longer, falling loose to his shoulders, left the bathroom. ‘That’s him.’

Jack blinked, as Bozer’s brow furrowed in confusion, and Riley raised an eyebrow sceptically.

‘Yeah, son, you’ve lost it, sorry, I gotta be the one to tell you…’

Mac shook his head, and grabbed a notepad and started scribbling on it, doing calculations.

‘It’s the same man; I can prove it!’ Mac pointed at the door of the bathroom. ‘Using the bathroom door for scale, and adjusting for the camera angle, he’s 5’11’’, weighs about 185 pounds, assuming average muscle density adjusted for his build, and wears Size 12 shoes.’

‘Just like Allen Bolton.’

The impersonator had clearly chosen Allen for several reasons; the loner was not likely to be missed, already had a reputation for not talking to his co-workers, and he fit into Allen’s clothes just like Allen had, so thus hadn’t been spotted.

Mac nodded as Riley spoke her realization out-loud.

‘He probably had a partner bring him a change of clothes and possibly take away the prosthetics, help him cut his hair and wash out the dye, but we probably won’t be able to work out who it was…’

Literally dozens of men carrying bags had come in and out of the bathroom.

Still, they had a real lead now.

Riley quickly got to work, running facial recognition on the man. He hadn’t looked straight at the camera outside the bathroom, but she could track him, scour CCTV and ATM cameras and social media until she got a good shot of his face…

* * *

‘…his name is Miles Cain, and he’s a known member of the Eagle Brotherband, an anarchist anti-government militia designated a domestic terror organization.’ There was a photo on Riley’s laptop of a group of about fifteen, predominantly young, men, some in cobbled-together combat fatigues, somewhere in the wilderness. They had an assortment of weapons, of all ages and origins, and there were several visible, identical tattoos of a bald eagle, and Cain was firmly in the middle of it. Riley’s fingers flew across the keyboard for a second. ‘And he just got off a plane at Bozeman Yellowstone International Airport.’

As Mac tossed down a paperclip shaped like Montana, Jack got up from his seat to talk to the pilot, rubbing his hands together.

‘Looks like we’re heading to Big Sky Country!’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Jim’s eyebrows went up, involuntarily, as he read the quote for the new insurance policy that the Phoenix intended to purchase, for agents’ phones in case of destruction while on a mission.

He looked up at Matty, who had a similar expression on her face, and then at Jan from Accounts. The severe-looking woman in her fifties, with stylish horn-rimmed glasses and grey hair pulled back into a ponytail just smiled wryly.

‘It’s not a mistake. We have to replace an average of three phones a week.’

Jim sighed internally.

Angus was, statistically, responsible for at least one a week.

He really should talk to him about that.

(Then again, he probably wasn’t one to talk. People who lived in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones and all.)

He sighed internally again, and turned the page to read the financial analysis, and his brows went up again.

They’d spent _how much_ replacing destroyed phones?

* * *

As Matty looked at the figures in the report in front of her, she took note of the figure printed in Jan’s neat handwriting on her copy, the cost that Accounts had calculated that Mac, the Phoenix’s star agent, had cost them in destroyed phones to date.

It was a _lot._

Even more than the cost of replacing the floor of that hisar in Turkey, plus that dam.

She made a mental note to talk to Baby Einstein when he got back from saving the world again.

* * *

**A PERFECTLY ORDINARY SUBURBAN HOUSE**

**(TOO ORDINARY…)**

**MONTANA**

* * *

Mac, holding a pie in his right hand, and Riley’s hand in his left, walked up to the front door of the Eagle Brotherband safehouse that Riley had tracked Cain to. When they got there, Riley reached out and rang the doorbell, then smiled and leaned a little into his side. Mac smiled back, just as the door opened, revealing a young man with an eagle tattoo on his bicep, who eyed them suspiciously.

Mac and Riley just smiled back at him obliviously, Mac speaking.

‘Hi, my wife and I just moved into the neighbourhood, and we just wanted to try and start neighbourly relations on a good front by bringing you some home-baked pie!’

Riley chipped in, clutching Mac’s arm.

‘It’s my brother’s recipe, and it is the most delicious thing you’ll ever taste…’

* * *

Meanwhile, concealed behind the fence in the backyard of the house behind the Eagle Brotherband’s safehouse, Jack, at the head of a tac-team that Matty had arranged for them, counted silently down with hand signals.

When he reached one, the team moved, breaching the fence and swarming the backyard.

* * *

**FIVE MINUTES LATER**

* * *

In the kitchen, Bozer tightened the cuffs around the last of the five men, all known members of the Eagle Brotherband (though Cain wasn’t one of them), who’d been in the safehouse, just as Jack, who’d been clearing the house with the tac-team, came into the room, stowing his weapon.

He took one look at the man with an eagle tattoo on his bicep who was covered in pie, and crossed his arms huffily.

‘Come on, brother, I was hoping we’d get to eat that! This is hungry work, you know!’

Jack’s grousing was interrupted by Riley’s voice ringing out over his and Bozer’s earpieces.

‘Guys, you might want to come down to the basement…’

* * *

The walls of the basement were _covered_ with pieces of paper. Maps of the Smithsonian, surveillance photos of Allen Bolton, schematics of the Lunar Module…it was like a serial killer’s lair, Jack thought.

And in the middle of it all, a very, very concerned, even horrified, Riley was standing in front of a laptop. An equally horrified, terrified and frantic Mac was tossing the place, muttering under his breath, searching for the transmitter.

Without preamble, the hacker spoke as Jack and Bozer stepped off the stairs.

‘They’re not just aiming to cause chaos. They’ve hacked into the Boeing and Airbus flight management systems.’

Mac, still frantically searching, continued, not even looking at them.

‘Those rely on GPS signals. The LM transmitter can transmit GPS signals.’ At that, he did look at Jack and Bozer for a single, solitary moment. ‘Using the transmitter and what they learned through that hack, they could transmit GPS signals that will mislead flight management systems regarding the plane’s location, and hence its height and speed.’ He paused, swallowing. ‘Planes all around the world will crash.’

Riley continued.

‘They could even pick the targets, and the pilots might not realize until it’s too late.’

Bozer and Jack blanched, and there was silence punctuated only by the sounds of Mac searching and Riley typing, equally frantically, both trying to find some way, any way, to stop this from happening.

Eventually, Bozer broke the silence.

‘It’ll be like 9/11…but all around the world.’

He, Mac and Riley had only been children that terrible day, but they’d been old enough to understand, to see how the event had changed so, so much…

Seconds after Bozer spoke, Mac cursed, ceasing his rhythmic thumping on the far wall, realizing that there was definitely no hidden compartment behind it like he’d hoped.

‘The transmitter is definitely not here.’ Coupled with the fact that most of the Eagle Brotherband wasn’t there, and how advanced the code for the signal that Riley had found was… ‘They’ve already started enacting their plan.’

* * *

‘You _have_ to find that transmitter, and you _have_ to stop the Eagle Brotherband.’

Matty, on Jack’s phone, looked as serious and as worried as they’d ever seen her, unsurprisingly.

The four field agents all nodded, exchanging a glance, their own expressions matching their boss’s.

Jack gave a sharp salute.

‘We’re on it, boss.’

* * *

Mac tipped the entire trash can over, and started rummaging through it. He made a noise of triumph when he found a banana peel that was half-rotted, and held it up with the tweezers from his Swiss Army knife, studying it carefully visually, before setting it down on a scrap of newspaper and beginning to dissect it, leaning down to get a good, long sniff. He made several notes on a notepad, then returned to rummaging through the trash, pulling out a Shake Shack bag. He opened it, and made another noise of satisfaction when he found three old fries. Holding them in the tweezers, he rubbed them over another scrap of newspaper, noting how much grease was released, then gave the fries another sniff. He made a face (the oil in them had gone very rancid), and made a few more notes on the notepad. He scribbled out a calculation, tilted his head to the side, considering, then crossed it out and changed a few variables, recalculating a number, then dove back into the trash.

* * *

There was a satellite image of the surrounding region (as far as you could get in the head-start that Cain had over them) on Riley’s laptop.

Mac got up off the floor, smelling a little bit like old oil and banana peels, and after wiping his hands off (Riley was very protective of her precious rig), started typing.

Several large red circles appeared on the map.

* * *

Bozer pored over the financial records of the Eagle Brotherband that some techs back at the Phoenix had obtained for him, muttering to himself.

‘Come on, Double-O-Boze, follow the money; money trail always leads somewhere…’ He gave a little smirk as he found a lead. ‘Gotcha!’

* * *

Bozer leaned across the dining room table so he could type on Riley’s laptop instead of his, and with a few keystrokes, all the red circles disappeared except one.

* * *

Riley, down in the basement, combed through the Eagle Brotherband’s communications. They were all encrypted, of course, but their encryption was no match for her.

She gave a little smile that was almost a smirk as she found what she was looking for.

* * *

The remaining red circle on the satellite image shrunk by 50%.

* * *

Jack sat backwards on a chair opposite one of the members of the Eagle Brotherband, who was cuffed and sitting on the floor, the one that he’d determined was in charge of the five at the safehouse.

(He’d been doing this for years. He knew how to pick a target.)

Casually, he pulled the knife out of his boot, played with it a little, running it over the top of the chair he was sitting on, carefully shaving off a small amount of wood into sawdust.

Then, he locked eyes with the man.

‘You know what I want.’ He paused, continuing to play with the knife. ‘We can do this the hard way or the easy way, buddy. Your choice.’ The hard way was probably not what the man was thinking. The Phoenix had rules, and so did Jack, but the knife made an excellent prop. A little visual incentive never hurt…He pointed with the knife at the door behind him. ‘My friends will have the location any moment now, so you got a chance, pal. Tell me, I’ll make sure the judge’ll go easy on you. Don’t tell me…and, well, we have to double-check my friends are right somehow…’

The knife ran across the top of the chair again.

* * *

Jack walked out of his makeshift interrogation room, slamming the door shut, and strode over to Riley’s laptop, his expression set but also triumphant.

He keyed in some coordinates, and the red circle condensed into a red dot.

Somewhere in the backwoods of Montana, halfway up a mountain.

Jack looked up, caught Riley’s eye.

‘Better let Matty know we’re gonna need a chopper.’

* * *

**SOMEWHERE OVER THE BACKWOODS OF MONTANA**

* * *

Mac’s hands moved frantically, and he cursed under his breath as he realized, halfway through, that this was not going to work.

He _had_ to get this signal jammer done before they confronted the Eagle Brotherband. Or else…

No, he refused to think about the consequences if he failed.

(He _couldn’t_ think about them, not right now, he had to focus…)

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, centre himself, focus and _think._

Strapped in across from him in the back of the chopper, Jack caught his eye.

‘Hey, son, you can do this.’ That was said with complete and utter faith, like it was the simple, uncomplicated truth, like it was the First Law of Thermodynamics or the Quotient Rule. Jack looked at the half-built jammer in Mac’s lap, and reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. ‘This help?’

Mac blinked twice, then reached for Jack’s phone.

‘Actually, yes.’

He’d already destroyed his own, and having the innards of another at his disposal would really help. In fact, he could use the battery to…

Mac shook himself out of it; Jack wouldn’t appreciate hearing the details, and it wasn’t really important, anyway.

His partner, however, pulled his phone slightly out of Mac’s reach, and sternly raised a finger at the blonde.

‘Uh uh…’

Mac rolled his eyes, already feeling much calmer, lighter.

‘I will pay for your new one if Jan denies your compensation request, I promise.’

Jack handed his phone over, grumbling loud enough for Mac to hear over the noise of the chopper.

‘Can’t believe she denied the last one! It clearly got destroyed in the line of duty!’

Mac smiled and shook his head, an idea crystallizing readily out of the mess of half-formed ones in his brain, now that he was calmer. The other voices, the doubtful ones, the cruel ones (the ones that used Murdoc’s voice or Mason’s voice or Walsh’s voice or Donnie Sandoz’s and told him that he couldn’t do this, that he was going to fail, and that people – innocent people, hundreds of them, thousands of them – were going to die), grew silent.

He disassembled Jack’s phone with practiced ease, and concentrated back on the signal jammer.

* * *

As the chopper hovered as close to the ground as it could safely get, hidden behind a very tall ridge, Mac looked down at the clearing below him, and immediately regretted it.

_Yeah, clearly, the exposure therapy isn’t helping._

_Either that, or I need to get real exposure therapy, instead of, you know, just going to work._

(The chopper couldn’t take them all the way; the pilot was dropping them off as close as he could get without alerting the Eagle Brotherband, and they’d hike the rest of the way.)

Mac closed his eyes, took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and started rappelling down.

_Obviously, I know that statistically, heights are far more common, but just once, could we get a mission that involves robots or octopuses, and no heights?_

* * *

Riley wiped her sweaty brow as they hiked through the woods, going at a very brisk walk, knowing that it would get them faster there than running full tilt, something they couldn’t sustain for long enough. In front of her, Jack had his weapon drawn and was obviously on high alert, while Mac’s hands worked busily on the jamming device he was still building, long legs eating up the distance easily.

She glanced at Bozer, who was walking beside her, a few feet behind the other two. The two of them were followed by the tac-team, bringing up the rear.

‘I hate this.’

Her voice was heavy, tense, matching the tension and urgency and desperation in the air.

Bozer (bless him) adopted a look of extreme, comical confusion.

‘I thought you liked being out here? You know, getting back to nature and all? You said it was soothing…well, at least, before Mac got kidnapped by baddies looking for their not-buried treasure…’

It was an invitation to banter, to bicker and be silly, and make some of that light in the darkness, but Riley didn’t feel like it at that moment. She was silent for a moment, before glancing back at Bozer as they hiked over a particularly steep ridge.

‘Oh, it’s nice and peaceful out here, Boze…just not when we’re going at crazy pace to try and stop some bad guys from downing every plane flying right now.’ She took a deep breath, a little shaky and ragged. Riley was very fit, a necessity of being a field agent, so it wasn’t because she was winded. ‘Trust me, Boze, waiting for the plane to crash…’

Without even thinking about it, she reached out and took his hand to help him over the last of the rocks she’d just scrabbled over. Silently, Bozer just squeezed her hand, in thanks, and in comfort. That made Riley gave a little smile, and then, the two of them snorted simultaneously as Mac and Jack’s bickering suddenly started up again.

‘…I’m telling you, brother, I saw one, just then!’

‘Jack, there is _no such thing_ as a tiger-bear!’

* * *

**SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE BACKWOODS OF MONTANA**

**(NOT FAR FROM WHERE THE BADDIES HAVE SET UP SHOP)**

* * *

Perched safely up in a tree, out of sight, Bozer gave his BFF a thumbs-up as Mac finished tying the last knot, spreading out the leaf litter a little more. Mac shot him a thumbs-up in return, then jogged off into the distance.

Bozer counted slowly to three hundred, then started to bellow like a grizzly bear, mixing in some snorting and teeth-clacking, making sure to let his voice carry.

* * *

Several minutes later, Bozer did a fist-pump as a group of men, all armed to the teeth, yelped with indignity as they, pursuing a non-existent agitated grizzly bear to get it before it got them, suddenly found themselves hauled off the ground unceremoniously, trapped in a net woven by Mac and Bozer and hauled ten feet into the air.

* * *

**FIVE MINUTES EARLIER…**

* * *

Jack watched through his binoculars as a good half of the Eagle Brotherband took off, abandoning their brothers and the newly-set-up, ready-to-do-evil LM transmitter.

Bozer’s grizzly bear impersonation was, as the kids put it nowadays, on point.

He signalled silently to the tac-team, and to Mac and Riley. The former had his DIY jamming device, freshly completed, strapped to the front of his chest like a very strange and very mechanical baby and was holding a very long, thick tree branch as a makeshift bo-staff, while the latter was double-checking the mag on Jack’s back-up.

Then, silently, Mac zipped up his jacket to hide the jammer, and they started making their way through the forest, towards the clearing where the Eagle Brotherband had set up, weapons at the ready.

* * *

Jack shot one of the would-be terrorists, guarding his partner and Riley’s backs as the two of them tried to get to the transmitter to disable it.

Mac’s jamming device seemed to be working, thankfully (not that Jack had ever doubted his partner’s big brain), because the terrorists had tried to activate it as soon as they’d burst out of the trees, but had clearly failed, given how frustrated they were looking.

Still, these guys weren’t half-bad. They clearly took the whole ‘militia’ thing seriously, because they’d recognized Mac and Riley’s objective and formed a loose protective ring around the transmitter, making sure to keep Jack and the tac-team engaged.

Jack cursed, shooting a guy that Riley had already shot in the knee through the wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon just as he was about to fire at her.

* * *

Mac knocked the machete out of one of the Eagle Brotherband’s hands using one of the two halves of bo-staff he was now holding, since the man had sliced his stick in half, then stepped forward to thwack him one-two, knocking him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Occupied, he couldn’t turn quite quickly enough to engage the man trying to tackle him from behind, and had to settle for elbowing him hard in the stomach instead, giving an _oof_ as the man got a blow in.

* * *

_I am definitely going to feel that tomorrow._

_But it’s alright, as so will he, as Jack once told me._

_The once is colloquial._

_Since when has Jack ever said anything just once?_

* * *

Jack kept half an eye on Mac and Riley as he and the tac-team focused on taking out as many of the would-be terrorists as they could.

(There were a lot more than advertised; clearly, they’d been recruiting and their intel was out of date.)

Mac was watching Riley’s back, as she was bent over the computer hooked up to the transmitter, trying to disable it, a task that was apparently very difficult, even for her, judging by the expression on her face, made harder by the fact that she was doing it one-handed and had to stop occasionally to shoot or punch some terrorist who was trying to stop her and slipped through Mac’s defences.

At that moment, Mac was wrestling bodily with a guy he’d cleverly disarmed but refused to give up. As they struggled, Mac holding the man in a chokehold, the zip of Mac’s jacket somehow caught on his clothes, and when he dropped, out cold, Mac’s jacket opened to reveal the signal jammer.

Jack watched as a very clever terrorist, on the other side of the clearing, caught sight of it, and realized what it was, before raising his rifle and aiming.

‘Mac!’

Jack yelled as loud as he could, putting a warning in there that he knew Mac would hear.

It felt like slow motion, just like in the movies.

There were too many bodies and trees in the way for Jack to shoot him before he could shoot his partner.

But Jack raised his own weapon, aimed and fired, all in a split second.

He hit his target perfectly. Bullseye.

The transmitter made a whining sound, then all the lights went out and the antenna fell over.

A second later, the bullet that would have hit Mac square centre mass whizzed over him harmlessly, as he’d desperately, entirely instinctively, dove onto the ground, crushing his signal jammer, as soon as he’d heard Jack’s voice (or even before, on some kind of finely-tuned instinct; it was hard to tell), and a couple seconds after that, the man dropped to the ground, knocked out by a half-a-branch-turned-bo-staff thrown expertly like a javelin.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, all the Eagle Brotherband members were disarmed, cuffed and under the tac-team’s guard. Bozer was updating Matty, while Riley disabled their nefarious code.

Mac was standing in front of the destroyed LM transmitter, looking at it in a way that Jack could only describe as mournful.

He strode over to his partner, reached out and clapped him on the back.

‘There’s other transmitters in the sea, son.’

Mac turned his head to look at him, giving a snort. Then, he sighed, picking up a piece of the transmitter, expression turning rather mournful again as he surveyed the destruction once more.

(Jack found it kinda funny, actually, given how destructive his partner often was…and how much glee he sometimes had when he was gutting a vacuum cleaner or cannibalizing a DVD player.)

‘This was the transmitter that gave us _one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind._ ’ He sighed. ‘It was very special, Jack.’

Mac sounded rather like he was talking about a woman he’d loved and lost.

Jack kinda got it, if he thought about the transmitter like his Shelby Cobra.

(Still, his boy was a weird one.)

(But Jack loved him, and wouldn’t have him any other way.)

He reached out and clapped Mac’s shoulder in comfort.

‘Maybe you can fix it.’

‘Huh.’

Mac’s thinking-face appeared, and he started to look at the pieces of the transmitter with newfound interest.

Jack smiled and shook his head, clapping Mac on the shoulder one last time, before striding off.

His money was on the Smithsonian getting back an improved, MacGyver-d Apollo 11 Lunar Module transmitter.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…sorry for the delay, Docs, Ritchie.’

Matty opened the door of her office, letting in Dr Taylor, Dr Farnham and Ritchie, a red-haired, freckled man who was the Phoenix’s germaphobic, agoraphobic, biological and chemical weapons expert.

Dr Taylor passed out two copies of a very well-done set of graphs, accompanying text and even references. Oversight quirked an eyebrow slightly, very impressed, as he quickly read the first page as the young woman spoke.

‘As you can see, an average of 2.34 Phoenix agents suffers non-accidental poisoning every month.’

Dr Farnham continued, as Ritchie nervously wrung his hands.

‘We should keep this list of antidotes to common poisons on hand.’ He held up his own copy of the third page. ‘Beth and I triaged Ritchie’s list, we think we’ve balanced cost and practicality with keeping our agents safe from toxins…’

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Jim and Matty exchanged a glance.

The Phoenix was getting an antidote library.

They were also getting a new MRI machine for the infirmary, which they were assured would pay for itself within eight years.

Matty gave a wry, teasing smile, putting her hands on her hips.

‘Regret hiring her, Jim?’

He actually chuckled, shaking his head.

‘Right now, a little bit.’

* * *

**THREE DAYS LATER**

* * *

Just before they were about to file out of the war room, the Eagle Brotherband mission _finally_ all tied up (near-apocalyptic event and all, it’d taken quite a while to finish up all the interrogations and tidy up all the loose ends), Matty smiled at Mac as he dropped his customary paperclip on the coffee table.

‘Director Coleman from the Smithsonian called, Baby Einstein. He says thank you for your repairs to the LM transmitter, and that you’re welcome back any time…’ Her smile grew wry, fondly teasing, even. ‘…as long as you don’t touch the displays.’

The war room filled with laughter, and Mac just smiled sheepishly.

* * *

_That…might pose a bit of a challenge. You know how I can get._

_Sorry, Director Coleman._

_Actually…maybe that’s why I never got the Spring Break trip to the Smithsonian as a kid?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed that (and that it was worth the wait!). 
> 
> The method of downing airplanes in this story is entirely fictional (though within what I consider ‘plausible’ based on my limited knowledge of engineering and physics); there are some things I don’t want to Google! As you guys have probably realized, I really, really love nerdy!Mac, so this was a chance to put in a good dollop! 
> 
> There is no episode tag for _Moments So Dear_ for this chapter, and unfortunately, I’m switching this to a once-a-fortnight posting schedule, instead of once-a-week. I just can’t manage to write one episode within a single week. I’m going to go to once every two weeks, and hopefully, I’ll build up a buffer of a few eps and be able to switch back to weekly updates.
> 
> Here’s the press release for the next ep:
> 
> 4.05, Team/Family. When a mission goes south, Riley is poisoned with a lethal toxin. Mac, Jack and Bozer frantically chase a mad scientist for the antidote, while Matty must make a very hard choice and Mac and Jack come into conflict. 
> 
> See you in two weeks!


	5. Team/Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a mission goes south, Riley is poisoned with a lethal toxin. Mac, Jack and Bozer frantically chase a mad scientist for the antidote, while Matty must make a very hard choice and Mac and Jack come into conflict.

**FANCY PARTY**

**A MANSION**

**SAN DIEGO**

* * *

Riley, wearing a slinky cocktail dress made of shimmery navy-blue material, smiled up at Mac, who was wearing a very nice tux, as they danced to the lightly-jazzy music being played by the live band.

She reached up slightly (in the heels she was wearing, he was hardly taller than she was), lacing her fingers together behind his neck, and reaching up to whisper into his ear, a little smile-smirk on her face, like she was teasing a lover.

Instead, she hissed at him, half-teasing, half-serious.

‘…seriously, Mac, we’re not at Prom and you’re not about get detention for getting too close!’ Riley shifted subtly so that his hand slipped lower down her back. ‘Luke Arrington is a playboy arms dealer, and that lady in the corner is already looking at us weirdly…’

Sometimes, Riley really did wonder how in the world Mac managed undercover missions, given how ridiculously earnest he was.

(It’d be a very, very bizarre universe in which Mac was a playboy arms dealer, after all. Or, say, a psychopathic assassin with a serious thing for homicide.)

Still, he obediently pulled her closer, laughing in a way that sounded unnatural to Riley’s ears, but she knew would convince anyone who didn’t know how _Mac_ laughed.

They kept swaying, scoping out the other guests mingling around the room, Mac steering the two of them, while Riley pressed herself closer whenever politeness or the manners Harry Jackson had drilled into his grandson or a fear of Jack going all daddy-on the-porch-with-a-shotgun (which was ridiculous, since this was literally their job, Jack definitely considered Mac the best man he’d ever known, and frankly, if anyone was a gentleman in Riley’s book, it was Angus MacGyver) got the better of the blonde.

* * *

Later, as they sat on a loveseat at the back of the room, continuing to observe, pretending to sip glasses of champagne and nibble on the canapes that were passed around (and ignoring Jack’s commentary in their ears regarding his opinion on each little morsel and imploring Mac to steal some for him, because surveillance was hungry work and he was stuck in the van), Riley shifted a little closer to her ‘boyfriend’, looking up at him.

Mac looked lost in thought, genuinely so.

Riley wasn’t completely sure what he was thinking about (Mac’s brain always had several things on the go anyway), but she could make a very good guess.

As of today, it’d been exactly two months since Desi had headed off on her solo mission.

And two months since she’d broken Mac’s heart, even if she thought it was for his own good, and the best for both of them.

Riley wasn’t completely convinced that that was the case (she’d gotten _that_ job done _that_ night in Paris, and Mac and Desi were just as good, if not better, honestly, at compartmentalizing than she was), but like the rest of the family, she knew that Mac getting lost in his own head was _not_ a good thing.

So, she raised her head off his shoulder, whispering in his ear again, a teasing smirk (a genuine one) on her face.

‘Wishing you were playing dress-up with our favourite prickly spicy ranch addict?’

* * *

The part of Mac’s brain that wasn’t focused on observing the other party attendees was jolted out of the labyrinth in his mind by Riley’s words.

(Which he knew was exactly the point; his family were very, very good at keeping him from going down the rabbit hole alone.)

He did really miss Desi something fierce, as his grandfather would have said.

He looked forward to her coming home.

But…he didn’t wish he was playing a pair of wickedly clever (and just plain wicked, honestly) lovers with her instead of Riley as much as the hacker thought.

(Perhaps that initial rush of attraction had faded to reveal that there wasn’t much behind it, or maybe it was because of that deliberate distance, their deliberate attempts to let go of feelings and hopes that could not be, to change their dynamic. Or, probably most likely, it was a combination of the two.)

(It saddened him, and he did wish, sometimes, still, that things were different, and he felt a little guilty, too, but there was an undeniable sense of relief as well, because, well, he’d pined in the past, and it was…not good.)

(The prettiest girl in school who’d only given him the time of day because he did her homework, the gorgeous, brilliant woman whom he’d believed had turned traitor…)

Still, Riley hadn’t been completely off the mark, not at all.

He _had_ been thinking about Desi.

Specifically, he’d been thinking about what she’d said to them while they’d hunted Helman, just after his dad’s diagnosis had been revealed.

_‘If you don’t think your dad can physically handle this, say so.’_

_‘He’s fine. He needs this right now.’_

His dad was leading a top-secret extraction mission in Libya, despite having had chemo just two days prior.

Beth had medically cleared him (just), though she’d made it abundantly clear that in her professional (and personal) opinion, he should not be going.

Mac knew stopping his dad from going was futile, but still, he wondered if he should have protested harder, tried harder…pretty much done as Desi had told him to do.

He’d just opened his mouth to say something in response when something (or rather, someone) caught his eye.

A bald-headed, middle-aged man, wearing glasses and a tux even sharper than Mac’s.

He was darting down a hallway, unnoticed by everyone.

Except the two spies in the room, of course.

Mac and Riley exchanged a glance, and then, forcing themselves to move slowly, discretely, taking the time to put down their champagne glasses and act the part of lovers desperate for a little privacy, ducked down the hallway after him.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Mac searched the spacious, wood-panelled office, while Riley stood at the desk, going through the computer.

They were mere seconds away from getting the damning evidence they needed (in conjunction with the conversation they’d just eavesdropped on and recorded) when, as Mac pulled out his phone to take a picture of the leather-bound planner he’d uncovered in a secret compartment in the wall, something caught his eye again over Riley’s shoulder.

It was the same man from earlier, and he just caught a flash of him as he ducked around the doorframe.

‘Riley!’

Mac called out a warning as the man’s arm rose, and in the same second, seized the nearest heavy object (an antique Delft vase) and threw it at him.

Riley moved, ducking, and the vase flew, but Mac was too late.

Or, rather, there was simply no way that a vase thrown by hand would attain the velocity needed to hit the man before he could throw the dart in his hand, and at that distance, a well-thrown dart was not going to miss.

It struck Riley in the back of the shoulder.

She swallowed as she raised a hand to the dart, pulling it away with a wince, swallowing again when she saw the syringe built into the dart, which was now empty, then looked up at Mac, looking a little scared.

He knew she was terrified, even if she was trying not to show it, because he was too.

Mac raised a hand to his earpiece.

‘Jack, Bozer, we have a problem. Call Matty; we need a med-evac now.’

* * *

**TWENTY-NINE HOURS EARLIER**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…meet Dr Antonio Silva.’ On the big screen, a photo of a man in his forties, with a shaved head and wire-framed glasses, appeared. Matty tapped her tablet again, and a PhD certificate, awarded to Antonio Silva by the University of Chicago, appeared. Mac looked impressed, and Matty shot him a dry look. ‘Yes, he’s a genius, Blondie, but unfortunately, he uses it for evil.’ She tapped her tablet again, and a large number of case files from law enforcement all around the world appeared. Assassinations in drug cartel turf wars, killings by terrorist organizations, the mysterious deaths of judges and witnesses and police officers…’For a substantial fee, Dr Silva will create a poison for all your murder needs. Law enforcement agencies have been pursuing him for years, with no luck.’ Matty paused, her expression growing set, grim. A tap on her tablet, and one of the files enlarged, a report from Interpol detailing the deaths of four agents, apparently from a variant on botulinum poison. ‘He killed the last team of agents who got close to getting the evidence needed to take him down.’ Mac, Jack, Bozer and Riley exchanged a glance, and Mac reached for a paperclip, which began to take the shape of a botulinum molecule. Matty tapped her tablet again, and an invitation to a party at a very swanky San Diego address appeared. ‘The Phoenix just intercepted intel that he’s going to be at this party thrown by a suspected Mafia don, and we’ve secured Luke Arrington and his plus-one an invite.’ Matty turned from the screen and looked straight at her agents. ‘Your mission is to collect that evidence we need and capture Silva.’ She paused, concern obvious on her face, at least to them. ‘ _Be careful_.’

There were serious nods, and then, Mac tossed a botulinum molecule down on the coffee table, and Jack gave a little grin-smirk, clapping his boy on the shoulder.

‘We always are, boss. Careful’s our middle names!’

Matty put her hands on her hips.

‘That’s not what it says on your personnel file, Jack _Wyatt_ Dalton!’

Jack looked put-out, and turned to the three younger agents.

‘It was colloquial! It ain’t meant to be taken literally! Come on, tell the woman!’

Mac, Bozer and Riley just glanced between their boss and Jack, and then at each other. Riley rolled her eyes, as did Mac, who spoke for all of them.

‘We are not getting involved.’

As the four field agents filed out, Matty watched them go.

Anyone who knew her well would have seen the affection, and the worry, and the faith in her eyes.

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**INFIRMARY**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Riley, pale and a little scared-looking, now wearing a hospital gown, sat up in a bed in the infirmary, propped up by pillows and with an IV coming out of her arm. A set of curtains provided some privacy. Matty sat on a chair to her left, while Dr Taylor sat on her right, holding a tablet.

The doctor looked concerned and grave and calmly reassuring, as she discussed the results of the tests that Phoenix medical and Ritchie had run on her blood and the syringe.

‘…we’ve identified the poison Silva used as a variant of crotamine.’ There was a picture of a tangle, some sections thicker and more spiral-like than others, others simply thin ropes, and colour-coded in a way that didn’t make sense to either Riley or Matty. ‘It’s a toxin produced by the South American and North American rattlesnakes that is a small protein, and it causes paralysis, eventually leading to death.’

Riley swallowed, and glanced at Matty, who just looked at Dr Taylor.

‘Do we have the antidote, Doc?’

The Phoenix’s antidote library was up and running, though it was not yet complete.

Dr Taylor nodded, but looked even graver, which was not good news for Riley.

‘We do, but…well, Silva made two modifications. The first was attaching many molecules of crotamine together, so that the poison is only released when certain enzymes in your body cut it up. That means that the poison is slow-acting, which is definitely good news. Unfortunately, his second modification was changing the structure just a little bit. The anti-venom for crotamine is highly specific to its structure, so it won’t recognize Silva’s modified crotamine.’

‘Could we try it anyway?’

Matty was pinning Dr Taylor with one of her _looks._ The doctor just shook her head, addressing her patient, rather than her boss.

‘At best, it would do nothing. At worst, you could have an extremely severe allergic reaction.’ Dr Taylor gestured at her tiny office, where Ritchie was pacing around and scribbling on the glass wall with a marker. ‘Ritchie is working on producing a new anti-venom, but unfortunately, that will take days.’

He had to synthesize Silva’s version of crotamine artificially, then inject it into a sheep, collect the relevant antibodies and purify them.

Riley nodded, looking scared, but tilted her chin up stubbornly, with great determination.

‘So Jack, Mac and Bozer need to find Silva and get me the antidote.’

She left the _or else_ unsaid.

And none of them raised the question, _what if Silva hadn’t made an antidote?_

Dr Taylor nodded, but looked like she wished she didn’t have to.

‘Yes…’ Her voice grew more reassuring. ‘…but Ritchie and his team will keep working on the anti-venom, and…’ She gestured at the IV in Riley’s arm. ‘…that IV will support your blood pressure and kidney function. I've also added a light sedative to slow your metabolism to slow the release of the toxin. Nausea is a common symptom of rattlesnake bites, so…’ Dr Taylor placed several sick bags on the nightstand next to Riley’s bed, before ducking around the curtain and returning with a packet of saltine crackers and two different flavours of Gatorade. ‘Do you prefer lemon-lime or fruit punch?’

‘Fruit punch, thanks, Doc.’

Dr Taylor put down two bottles of fruit punch Gatorade next to Riley’s bed, made a note on her tablet, and stepped over to the edge of the curtain again.

‘I’ll be back to check on you in half an hour, but call me if you feel nauseous, dizzy, lightheaded, start suffering blurry vision, or feel muscle pain or weakness, or if you need anything at all.’

That was said extremely firmly and insistently, and then, the doctor ducked out to speak to Ritchie.

Matty just glanced at the young woman on the bed next to her, and reached out and squeezed her hand. Riley, looking young and scared and vulnerable, stared at their hands for a moment, then swallowed, looking up at Matty.

‘They’ll get the anti-venom, Riley.’

The hacker gave a little smile and nodded.

‘I know they will.’

The question, they both knew, wasn’t if Mac, Jack and Bozer would get the anti-venom, whatever it took, off Silva…it was whether they could get it in time.

* * *

**SWANKY MANSION**

**SAN DIEGO**

* * *

As Matty finished briefing them, Mac, Jack and Bozer just exchanged a glance. They’d known it was bad (very, very bad) from the instant that Matty’s face had appeared on the screen, but being prepared didn’t make the blow any softer.

Mac pulled off his gloves (they’d been searching the mansion for any clues as to where Silva might have gone – Matty had called in a couple of favours to get the mansion seized), and ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

Jack crossed his arms, a look crossing his face like he really wanted to put Silva six feet under, painfully, before a softer, worried, paternal look crossed his face, and he turned back to Matty on his phone.

(Bozer, meanwhile, full of worry and fear and anger himself, just looked between the other two men with concern.)

‘Diane, she’s in Hong Kong at a girlfriend’s destination wedding…you _gotta_ get her back to LA, Matty, so she can be with her baby girl while she’s sick…’

Jack swallowed, trailing off, refusing to voice the worst. Matty just nodded, her expression sympathetic and understanding and in full agreement with Jack.

‘We’re getting her onto a flight right now.’

Jack took a deep breath, looking like a little of the weight of the world on his shoulders had lightened just a touch.

‘Thanks, Matty.’

She shook her head.

‘No thanks necessary.’ She looked at the three agents, great, grave determination on her face. ‘Get that anti-venom, boys.’

She got three serious, determined nods, and two sharp salutes.

‘Yes, ma’am!’

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**SOMEWHERE OVER CENTRAL AMERICA**

**ON-ROUTE TO RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL**

* * *

The atmosphere in the jet was tense as they flew to Rio.

(Evidence they’d found in the house, coupled with hard work and brilliance from a couple of Phoenix analysts, had led them to believe Silva had set up shop in a favela in Rio.)

Bozer, face hidden behind a tablet with intel on it, looked subtly (or so he thought) between Mac and Jack, who were both silent and lost in their own heads. The former was re-shaping paperclips, while the latter continually cleaned his weapon and his back-up and the back-up to the back-up.

The air simmered with guilt and fear and worry and anger.

That, Bozer thought, wasn’t surprising.

Riley was facing down an enemy that none of them could help her fight. Jack’s fists and aim or Mac’s genius and improv skills were not going to help.

And neither Mac nor Jack did well with being powerless and incapable of helping.

(When Mac had thought his partner was dead, when Mason had had Charlie in that elevator and hundreds of innocents hostage, Zoe, that time Riley had been kidnapped, Mac running away to Nigeria…)

And, Bozer thought, as Jack looked up, _glared_ at his partner, then jumped up and started to pace, fury in every step, _that_ wasn’t all that surprising either.

They all knew what Riley was to Jack.

And they were all aware of how protective the older man was.

The real target of Jack’s ire wasn’t exactly accessible, since he was probably (hopefully) hiding in a favela in Rio, so Jack was taking it out on a target that was.

Bozer sighed internally and braced himself for the inevitable blow-up, and started thinking about how to fix the fall-out. Or rather, help the fixing along.

They were family. Family fought, family hurt each other, because no-one knew you better, and because you were open and honest and vulnerable with family.

But family always came back together in the end.

* * *

Mac stared at the paperclip, as yet not reshaped, in his hand, sighing internally, riddled with guilt.

The paperclip started to take the shape of a molecule of crotamine.

It’d been his responsibility, beyond the usual, to keep Riley safe in that mansion, and he had failed.

Badly.

* * *

‘We need to talk, brother.’

As Mac came out of the bathroom, Jack was waiting for him, his arms crossed.

Internally, Mac sighed.

(He might be not-so-good at social interaction and sometimes hopelessly oblivious, but he could tell Jack was angry, and that that anger was directed at him, however wrongly – or rightly, an insidious voice in his head pointed out, which Mac shoved away.)

He raised a shoulder.

‘Shoot.’

‘Yeah, that’s what we gotta talk about.’ Jack tapped the holster at his hip. ‘You gotta start carrying, or this is gonna happen again!’

A flare of anger went through Mac.

(This was far, far worse than he’d expected it’d be. He’d known Jack was angry, but this was…this was something else.)

Jack knew why he didn’t carry, knew why he did things the way he did.

(Bozer’s little brother, Josh, life ended before it even really started. Hearing about shooting after shooting, even as adults tried to keep his too-precocious self from learning too much about the tragedies. Deeply-held beliefs, ideals, to minimize violence, to avoid killing whenever he could, to minimize the infliction of harm and pain…)

(Then solidified by life as a soldier. A little Afghani boy, caught in crossfire. A teenage girl in Iraq, taken out by a sniper in a tragic case of mistaken identity…)

(Being a spy hadn’t changed his resolution in the slightest, either.)

He and Jack had many, many differences, but they respected each other’s way of looking at the world, at doing things, even if they didn’t agree or even understand.

So this felt like _betrayal._

It cut _deep._

Still, Mac tried to stay calm. The two of them fighting was not going to help Riley.

‘Jack-‘

His partner didn’t let him finish, just got in his face, in a way that was reminiscent of the day they’d first met.

‘I would’ve shot him. Dez would’ve shot him. Any of the squad would’ve shot him.’ Jack swallowed, anger and fear and worry and even guilt crossing his face. ‘Then we wouldn’t be here, chasing some mad scientist in some crazy, last-ditch attempt to save my girl’s life!’ His voice cracked with emotion. ‘She wouldn’t be dying if you weren’t a coward, man! A coward who can’t live with what the rest of us do!’

That did it.

Mac’s calm deserted him, driven away by blow after blow.

(It’d have hurt from anyone, but from the person who was always in his corner, who was always by his side…)

‘I’m not a coward.’

Mac managed to bite out those words, before he turned and re-entered the bathroom again, slamming the door behind him.

Shaking a little, he braced his hands on the sink, stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He tried to let go of that defensive anger at that _betrayal,_ and tried to ignore the voices in his head, the ones that kept whispering _it’s your fault_ and _he’s right_ and _you’re a fool, you’re a coward_ and _your unreasonable idealism might’ve cost Riley her life, and who knows how many it’ll kill in the future?_

* * *

Outside, Bozer, standing in the main cabin of the jet, watched, very, very worried, as Jack beat his fist against the wall opposite the bathroom, cursing loudly and repeatedly.

Bozer whispered to himself.

‘Come on, homegirl, you _got_ to pull through…’

Notwithstanding the terrible loss for them and the world that would do, how much damage would Mac and Jack do to their relationship if she didn’t win that fight? How many things would they say that they’d regret forever?

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…I’m so sorry, Doc…’

A very mortified Riley, nauseous and head spinning, stared at Dr Taylor, who was standing beside her bed, her scrubs covered with vomit.

(The nausea was really, really bad, and Riley was so dizzy that clearly, her aim was very off.)

The doctor just smiled at the other woman, passing Riley a clean sick bag and a bottle of freshly-opened Gatorade, so she could wash the foul taste from her mouth.

‘It’s perfectly alright; a hazard of the job.’ Her smile turned more wry. ‘It’s far from being the first time, and far from being the last.’ She took the dirtied sick bag away, and gestured at Riley to keep sipping at the Gatorade, then wisely passed her a fresh sick bag. ‘And if you’d like, call me Beth.’ She smiled wryly again. ‘I’ve realised that formality isn’t all that important here at the Phoenix…’

Most Phoenix agents called her Lil’ Doc, thanks to Bozer. Dr Farnham and Jan from Accounts and several other support staff told her it was a great honour, too, telling her about Jill Morgan and her courage and her death in the line of duty and the nickname she’d had when she’d first started working at the Phoenix, shy and quiet.

That made Riley chuckle, and she nodded, smiling wryly too.

‘That…is an understatement, Beth.’

Riley had a lot (a _lot_ ) of memories and stories that proved it.

Another wave of nausea struck her, and she threw up again, thankfully, this time, into the sick bag.

Being poisoned was terrible.

Being poisoned with something lethal…was so much worse.

Riley told herself very sternly not to think about that, to think about those silly stories and ridiculous memories instead, the ones that exemplified the Phoenix’s employees being distinctly _informal._

She latched onto that photo that Bozer had taken of Mac and Jack, dressed as Santa and Rudolph respectively, having just dealt with ‘Tickle-Me Tony’ in New York.

They _would_ find Silva, and they _would_ find the antidote.

* * *

Meanwhile, downstairs in one of the many sub-basements, Matty watched through the bulletproof glass wall that delineated Ritchie’s lab. The red-haired man, typically a ball of neuroses and anxiety on his best days, was concentrating intently and with surprising calm on programming the peptide synthesizer, only stopping to speak to one of his many lab assistants, who showed him some data on a tablet.

Despite the dire situation, the Phoenix’s Director gave a small smile.

He was a germaphobe and an agoraphobe, but he was also a biological and chemical weapons expert, who’d returned to work after not one, but two, attacks on his workplace in a little over two years, after a friend had been murdered, just for doing her job.

There were many kinds of courage, and each and every one of her employees was full of courage. Each and every one was brilliant and talented and exceptional, often in many ways.

She took a deep breath as she walked back towards the bank of elevators, pulling out her phone when it chimed with a message from Andi, the other woman informing her that she couldn’t stall Bill from the CIA any longer.

Matty sighed and punched in the floor for her office, rather than the infirmary.

Still, Andi had stalled him for thirty minutes, which was no mean feat.

(Her assistant was _not_ a mere – albeit extremely competent - secretary, despite what most others thought. They preferred to keep it that way; it gave Andi an advantage.)

The Phoenix’s employees were special (in more ways than one, to her).

She would _not_ lose another one.

* * *

**A FAVELA**

**RIO DE JANEIRO**

**BRAZIL**

* * *

Mac, Jack and Bozer were eyed with suspicion as they hiked through the slums, following a rumour or two or three that hinted where Silva’s lab was in the sprawling city-within-a-city.

That, Bozer thought, wasn’t exactly unusual.

What was unusual was the complete and utter absence of Mac and Jack’s usual banter and bickering. The partners didn’t speak to each other, or even look at each other, aside from discussing which way to go next, or whom to ask a pointed question or two of, potentially bribe.

He sighed internally as Mac reflexively caught a makeshift cloth soccer ball and tossed it back to the bunch of barefoot boys playing in the street with it, smiling, and sighed internally again as he caught Jack glaring at a youth harassing a teenage girl carrying a basket of clothes on her hip, causing the young man to scurry off and getting a shy smile from the teenager.

Everything was as it should be…aside from the one, glaring thing that was not.

Bozer glanced between Mac and Jack again, and made a decision, hurrying a little to keep up with his BFF’s long-legged stride.

‘It’s not your fault, bro.’ That made Mac turn his head and just stare at him for a moment, steps faltering just a tiny bit, something in his eyes that said, unwittingly, _yes it is_ , obvious to Bozer after so many years of friendship. ‘It’s not your fault.’ Bozer spoke with supreme conviction. ‘And Jack knows that.’

That was said with even more conviction.

Bozer did not miss his best friend’s quick glance at the older man, the fear in his eyes that Bozer was wrong, that what Mac’s gut was surely telling him, after all these years, was, in fact, wrong.

So, he just caught Mac’s eye again, and repeated himself one last time.

(Mac might be a genius, but sometimes, he needed to hear things a few times.)

‘He doesn’t blame you.’ Bozer paused. ‘Well, okay, maybe he sorta is right now, but he won’t after he’s punched Silva in the face a few times. You know how Jack gets.’

That, just like he’d hoped it would, got a snort that was almost a chuckle out of the blonde.

Internally, Bozer did a fist-pump.

* * *

They’d pretty much lost the trail when a woman, aged by poverty, face heavily lined, but, by Mac’s best guess, probably around Jack’s age, slipped out of an alleyway, and caught his gaze with her own very deliberately, gesturing with her chin the way she’d come.

He, Jack and Bozer exchanged a glance.

It might be a trap.

Then again, it could also be a very valuable source of intel.

There wasn’t even a decision to be made, not with what was at stake.

They followed the woman down the alleyway.

* * *

She led them into a tiny home with walls of heavily-patched sheet metal and a single mattress on the floor in the corner, a propane stove on the other side, and then, without preamble, spoke.

‘You’re looking for the doctor.’

She practically spat the last word out, full of derision. It was also, notably, not a question.

Mac, Jack and Bozer exchanged another glance, and Mac spoke, nodding.

His gut told him to trust this woman.

‘Yeah, we are.’

Jack looked her straight in the eye.

‘You know where we can find him?’

In answer, the woman just pulled out a photograph from under one of the two mismatched pillows. It was of a very pretty young woman, probably barely twenty years old, holding an infant wrapped in a ragged blue blanket that appeared to be a repurposed shirt.

‘My grandson got very sick, so we took him to the hospital. He needs surgery, medicine, the doctors say, but how do we pay for it?’ She gestured around at her meagre home. The woman’s expression grew more set, angry, grim, full of grief. ‘My daughter says that she’s heard of a man, a doctor, who needs people for experiments. _He pays very well, Mama._ ’ The woman paused. ‘I told her not to, but she said she had to, for little Marcos, and I could not argue any more.’ The grief and anger grew stronger. ‘Three days later, she came home with more money than I had ever seen. The day after, she died in pain. A week later, so did Marcos.’

The three Phoenix agents exchanged another glance. Mac swallowed down his own anger, and crouched down by the woman, locking eyes with her.

‘We’re going to catch Silva, and he’s going to go to prison, far away, where he can’t hurt anyone ever again. I promise.’

The woman stared at him for a long, long time. He supposed that a difficult life had probably made her very unwilling to trust anyone, let alone an American stranger who waltzed in and made grand promises, but she must have seen something on his face that she liked, because she nodded and gave a small, sad smile.

‘Aline will lead you to him.’

As if on cue, the teenage girl whose unwanted suitor Jack had scared off slipped through the doorway, and gestured at them to follow her.

In the doorway, Jack paused, turned back to the woman who’d so tragically lost her daughter and her grandson, and spoke, his voice a little rough with emotion, and full of determination.

‘We’ll get him, ma’am.’

* * *

As they followed Aline through the twists and turns of the favela, getting deeper and deeper into it, Bozer fell back to walk beside Jack.

‘She’s going to be okay. Aline’s going to get us to Silva, Mac’s gonna do his thing and then you’re gonna get to dish out a few knuckle sandwiches, and we’re gonna grab the antidote and get it back to the Phoenix, and Lil’ Doc’s gonna give it to Riley and then she’s gonna be fine.’

Bozer said that with upmost conviction. Any other alternative was simply unacceptable.

Besides, his BFF was Angus MacGyver, and while he no longer believed that a MacGyver could do absolutely anything, Bozer still fervently believed that his best friend could pull off just about everything.

And even more than that, Bozer believed in Mac-and-Jack and what they could achieve, and he believed in Riley (she was strong and brave and tough and awesome, and she’d hold on until they got back with the antidote), and he believed in Team Phoenix, and what they could do.

Jack was silent for a long moment, and his voice was a little rough when he spoke.

‘She’s gotta be, Boze. She’s gotta be.’ Jack swallowed, his shoulders rolling back and straightening, taking on some of Bozer’s belief, faith, letting that reassurance wash through him. ‘She’s gonna be.’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Beth was very worried.

It was early evening, and her attempts to get some dinner into Riley had failed; the other young woman simply had no appetite. Water and Gatorade were similarly refused, and currently, the hacker was almost-sleeping, made very drowsy by the increased dose of sedative Beth had added to her IV.

(Muscle paralysis was starting to set in, and she had to buy Riley more time, had to get Mac, Jack and Bozer more time to return with the antidote, so she had to slow her metabolism further, to try and slow the release of crotamine into her system.)

The doctor was just about to duck out of the curtained-off ‘room’ when her patient spoke, eyes cracking open.

‘Stay?’

She sounded like a sick child, vulnerable and in pain and scared and even lonely.

(Mac, Jack and Bozer were in Brazil, trying to save her life. Matty was in a meeting that couldn’t be put off any longer, while Diane Davis was still in-flight. Leanna was on a mission in Moscow.)

(Beth didn’t know Riley very well yet, but she got the feeling that being so _vulnerable_ and _open_ had been unusual for the hacker - who seemed really cool, awesome, tough and badass to Beth’s eyes - until reasonably recently, and that it was probably still pretty unusual to be that way with people who weren’t her _family._ )

(Still, the doctor was used to this sort of thing; when people were sick or injured or dying or thought they were, they said things and did things and admitted things they otherwise wouldn’t have.)

It would have been frowned upon and probably gotten her hauled in front of the hospital ethics committee at her old job, but the Phoenix did things differently, Beth had come to realize.

(One of their nurses, Max, was even dating Agent Cheng, after all.)

Besides, at the end of the day, she’d made Oaths, sworn herself to sympathy and understanding and compassion, and no-one, absolutely no-one, should have to fight for their life alone.

So, Beth smiled and grabbed a chair, tugging it closer to Riley’s bedside.

‘Of course.’

* * *

**SILVA’S LAIR**

**RIO DE JANEIRO**

**BRAZIL**

* * *

‘…that was _not_ necessary.’ Mac shot Jack a _look_ , as he took in the bullet hole in the doorway. Jack had, of all things, _shot_ the locking mechanism so they could get into this building on the edge of Silva’s complex (and it was an honest-to-God complex) to snoop around. (Thankfully, Jack had a makeshift silencer that Mac had put together attached to his gun, so they hadn’t alerted Silva’s guards.) ‘I was just about to pick it!’

Mac had been unwinding a paperclip when his partner had decided to go for a more brute force approach.

Jack just crossed his arms stubbornly.

‘You were taking too long.’

Without taking much care to not shove past the blonde, Jack strode into the building.

* * *

‘…yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah...’

Mac, focusing on turning his own phone into a scanner for certain electrical signals emitted by equipment Silva would need (he knew better than to ask for Jack’s with his partner in his current mood), tuned out his partner’s response to his (admittedly probably excessively scientific) explanation for how it actually worked, telling himself to ignore the fact that it sounded far too much like Donnie Sandoz and his gang.

(Jack – and most of his family, actually – teased him quite often for his ‘Mr MacGyver’s science class mode’. No-one really _got_ it, except his dad, and a handful of Phoenix techs – Jill had been one - and probably unsurprisingly, given her friendship with his dad, Beth. Still, they tolerated it and considered it an endearing, albeit sometimes exasperating and annoying character trait, because they loved him, and the ribbing was good-natured.)

(At least, it was when Jack wasn’t mad at him.)

_Focus, MacGyver, focus._

_You know he doesn’t mean it._

_You know he loves you, exactly as you are, just like you know the First Law of Thermodynamics._

_It’s simply the irrefutable truth._

* * *

Mac and Jack wordlessly ducked into a room, and Jack watched the door while Mac started to search.

Jack watched as the blonde crouched down to stare at the point where the floor met the wall for some reason, before making a noise of satisfaction and glancing back at him.

For some reason, something that Jack couldn’t explain, that just hit him sharply.

For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, and then, they spoke at the same time.

‘It ain’t your fault, son. I’m sorry for taking it out on you-‘

‘I’m sorry, I know how much she means to you, I should’ve been more understanding-‘

They stared at each other for another moment, before Mac gave a slightly-sheepish smile and chuckle, while Jack grinned and gave an almost-laugh.

‘Do we really need to talk ‘bout this, brother?’

Mac jumped up off the floor athletically in a way that made Jack’s knees jealous, grinning, and shook his head.

‘Nah, not really.’ A lot of things didn’t need to be said between them. He reached out, clapping his hand against Jack’s as the older man held his out in invitation. Then, Mac cocked his head to the side, and the expression on his face turned wry. ‘Especially not now.’

There were footsteps coming down the corridor. Silva’s guards.

Jack gestured at the window.

‘Feel like a replay of Mumbai? ‘Cause I am!’

Mac rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

‘Of course you do.’

Still, he headed over to the window.

* * *

_It’s hard, sometimes, working with the people you love, working with your family, especially in this line of work._

_No-one makes you worry like family. No-one can hurt you like family._

_But at the same time, you work better with people you care about, people you trust more than anything._

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, Matty sat by Riley’s bedside. The young woman was deeply asleep and unnaturally still and pale. With a sigh, Matty reached out and placed her hand over Riley’s. She got no response, not even a twitch.

Diane was still a couple of hours away from being in Matty’s current spot. Matty and Dr Taylor were keeping her updated as best as they could, but it was completely different to actually being with her baby girl.

And Mac, Jack and Bozer were still pursuing Silva and the antidote.

Matty had been running spies for years. She was accustomed to being able to do nothing but watch (if that) while her agents faced danger and even death.

Still, it was hard, watching Riley fight for her life without being able to do a thing.

Matty heard footsteps behind her (far later than she should have), and twisted in her seat to find Dr Taylor parting the curtain, a neatly-folded blanket over her arm and a toasted sandwich on a plate in her hand, with a bottle of water tucked under her arm.

She looked apologetic, a little awkward, eyes darting to where Matty’s hand still held Riley’s, but deposited the blanket on the back of Matty’s chair.

‘I’m sorry for interrupting, I just…well, I thought you might be cold, and you haven’t eaten anything for ten hours.’ The latter was said very firmly, and she held the sandwich out to Matty very insistently, with a narrowing of her eyes that was probably reflexive, unconscious. ‘You really need to eat, and since the panini press in the breakroom is currently functional…’

She trailed off a little awkwardly, like she was aware that she was rambling slightly (and the narrowing of her eyes had definitely been unconscious, because Matty could see the flash of realization that went through her eyes when she’d realized she was bossing her boss around), and Matty just smiled at her, voice firm, but gentle.

‘Doc, you don’t need to apologize for going above and beyond to do your job.’

The young woman’s cheeks flushed a tiny bit, and she ducked her head at the praise, but nodded, and got to work checking on Riley.

Matty, meanwhile, took a bite of her sandwich.

* * *

It was only all her years of training and experience and the knowledge that she really did have to eat that let Matty finish that sandwich, as Dr Taylor continued her examination of Riley, looking very concerned. When she was done, the doctor ducked into her office for a few minutes, then came back, holding a tablet.

Matty could tell that the younger woman had squared her shoulders, taken a deep breath and called upon all her training, to have that calm, reassuring look on her face when she’d ducked back around the curtain.

‘Boss?’ She held out the tablet. ‘Given Mac, Jack and Bozer’s estimated ETA…’ They were moving against Silva as they spoke. ‘…the toxin is progressing too quickly through her system.’ She paused, and pointed out something on the tablet. ‘I can slow its progress by slowing her metabolism further, by inducing a coma and muscle paralysis.’ There was another pause. ‘Unfortunately, if the antidote isn’t administered in time-‘

Matty looked up, glanced at Riley.

‘She might never wake up.’

‘Yes.’

Matty turned her head to look squarely at the doctor.

‘But it’ll buy us some time?’

‘Yes.’

That was said with clear confidence.

‘And in your opinion, this is the best option for her?’

‘Yes.’

There was no doubt, hesitation or awkwardness in there. Only confidence, certainty.

Dr Taylor was an excellent doctor, Matty knew. Just like everyone at the Phoenix excelled in their particular field.

She turned her head to look at Riley again, unnaturally still and pale, fighting for her life. Unconscious, non-cognizant.

Diane’s plane was minutes from landing, so she couldn’t receive calls or messages. She’d still have to clear Customs and Immigration, and LA traffic was still LA traffic at any time of day.

Jack was very, very busy at that moment, too.

Every minute, Matty knew, counted now.

Riley couldn’t wait for either of them to make the call for her.

It was down to Matty.

The Phoenix’s Director trusted her staff, knew they were the best at what they did.

So, she turned her head again and nodded at Dr Taylor.

‘Do it.’

* * *

**A FAVELA**

**RIO DE JANEIRO**

**BRAZIL**

* * *

‘…oh, let me take a selfie first!’

Jack and Bozer, wearing horrifically touristy T-shirts (one said ‘I heart Rio’, the other ‘I go to Rio!’), loudly called out to each other as they gaped at the makeshift marketplace around them, where Aline and her mother’s friends had told them that Silva shopped for supplies every morning.

‘…aww, come on, why does no one speak English around here?’

Right on cue, they spotted Silva, lip curled in distaste, and Jack grinned and spoke to Bozer far too loudly.

‘Oh, look, that guy’s got glasses, he’s probably smart, maybe he speaks English!’ Jack hurried over to Silva, and spoke slowly, exaggeratedly, with excessive gestures. ‘Hey, man, parlez vous Inglese?’

Silva look at him as if he were an idiot, and tried to brush past him, but Bozer got in the way, along with one of Aline’s friends, a young woman selling pieces of gum and cigarettes, by pulling the girl close to him for a selfie, gushing about how awesome this was going to look on his Instagram.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mac jumped from roof to roof, keeping as low as he could, until he reached the edge of Silva’s compound.

(One of Aline’s friend’s fathers had very helpfully arranged to have his hawker cart parked outside Silva’s compound, so Mac could make that last jump into the compound itself.)

Once inside the compound, he darted from roof to roof again, taking advantage of the fact that people rarely looked up, and when he reached the building he was targeting, pulled out a makeshift blowtorch from his jacket pocket, and started cutting a hole in the roof.

Then, Mac looked down through the hole, waiting, and dropped through it just as a guard appeared underneath it, landing on top of the man.

* * *

‘…come on, buddy, can’t you tell us where we can get a good drink ‘round here? Or a hot dog, I could really go for one or two right now…’

Jack and Bozer (with help from the favela’s inhabitants) had Silva cornered in the marketplace, interrogating him about Insta-worthy places to eat and asking insensitive and just plain stupid questions about life in the slum.

Both could see the frustration start to seep out of the man’s very pores, as his hand kept going to his right pants pocket, where surely, his phone was vibrating with alerts as Mac took out his guards and broke into his lab.

‘…nah, you can’t possibly eat those things, that’s disgusting!’

* * *

Mac practically dove into the lab, having been running full tilt, and hastily blocked the door with a lab table and a properly-placed retort stand. He then hurried over to the freezer, and opened it, to find it absolutely chock-full of tubes of sera.

He cursed under his breath; there was no time to sort through them for the right ones, he could hear the guards trying to break down the door already.

He grabbed a nearby cooler, shovelled dry ice into it, thankful that Silva had a good supply, and just grabbed every tube from the freezer, before securing the cooler and jumping out the window.

* * *

‘Damn it!’

Silva finally lost his patience with them, or he’d made them, and suddenly took off running. The favela marketplace’s vendors moved to slow him, but he shoved them out of the way, taking off through the maze of alleyways.

Jack and Bozer took off in pursuit.

‘Seriously, man, why do we have to do so much cardio? I’m more of a strength training kind of guy!’

* * *

Mac, the precious cooler in his left hand, grabbed a large melon from the hands of one of the favela’s inhabitants with a quick apology, aiming carefully and tossing it at the last of the guards pursuing him.

The melon hit the man square in the head, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes, face covered with melon.

Mac heard a cheer, and a little startled, turned to see a little girl of no more than five or six, head poking out from a nearby alleyway. The child looked very shy, but giggled, when he looked at her, and Mac couldn’t help himself and grinned at her.

A young man, a little younger than Mac, ducked out from the alleyway too, taking the little girl’s hand. Her father, probably, or a much older brother, by their resemblance. He, too, smiled at Mac, and gestured with his head down the alleyway.

‘This way to your friends.’

* * *

Jack, breathing hard (cardio was not his favourite, unlike Mac), chased Silva down the alleyway, and realized with very savage satisfaction that the man had never bothered to learn the local terrain as well as he should have.

(He, Bozer and Mac had memorized a map drawn for them by Aline.)

There was a dead end, and Bozer popped up from behind a pile of junk and swung a heavy metal pipe at the man, clocking him hard so he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Jack grumbled, even as he moved to secure Silva’s wrists.

‘Oh man, come on, Boze! Thought we agreed I got first dibs!’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘Diane…’

As soon as they reached the door of the infirmary, Jack strode through it, to Riley’s bedside, drawing Diane into his arms. Her skin was far paler than it should have been, and there were dark circles under her eyes, and she only let go of Riley’s hand to hug Jack back, burying her face in his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Mac and Bozer hauled the precious cooler over to where Ritchie and Beth were waiting, and the doctor, the scientist and Mac started having a conversation that Bozer couldn’t follow.

He wasn’t being useful there, so he just pulled up a chair and took a seat next to Riley’s bedside, and started telling her a story.

‘…you’re not gonna believe what happened next! I grabbed that pipe and it was like a home run!’

* * *

‘…I’m surprised the girl lasted so long, but it has to be too late for her now…’

In interrogation, having first crack at Silva (Matty had allowed him to bribe her with a dozen cheese Danishes for the chance), Jack didn’t even think. He just heard the blood roaring in his ears and saw _red._

He had no memory of what he actually did until Matty’s voice broke through the haze, and he realized his knuckles were bloody and Silva’s nose was broken, the evil man gasping for breath since Jack had a hand wrapped around his throat.

‘Get out here now, Dalton.’

He forced himself to release the cuffed man’s throat, forced himself to take several deep breaths.

And with one last glare at Silva, one last wish for that man to be six feet under, Jack turned his back on him, opened the door, stepped out and slammed it closed.

* * *

Matty was waiting for him, just outside, her arms crossed firmly, but her eyes as gentle as she ever was.

‘Go down to the infirmary, Jack. You’re needed there.’ _With your family,_ she left unsaid. It didn’t need to be, not out loud. Matty’s expression grew more set, a darker, colder, yet very controlled look crossing her eyes. ‘I’ll deal with Silva.’

Jack wanted to protest a little at that, because he really, really wanted to break that bastard, but Matty was right.

And Silva was wrong.

Lil’ Doc and Ritchie had assured them all that thanks to the induced coma, and their timely acquisition of the antidote, Riley wasn’t doomed, and she was starting the road to recovery. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but her odds were good.

His place was there, by her side, holding Diane’s hand, exchanging banter with Mac and Bozer, trying to find a little light in the darkness like they always did.

(And Matty’s would be too, once she got Silva to talk and set US intelligence and their allies to taking down all of his former employers.)

* * *

When Jack walked into the infirmary, he immediately bee-lined for Riley’s bedside, taking a seat beside Diane.

Was it his own wishful thinking, or was his girl sleeping a bit better, somehow? A little more colour to her? Less unnaturally still?

No, he couldn’t be imagining it, because Diane, looking very much hopeful, reached out and took his hand, looking him in the eye shrewdly when she saw the blood. There was a question in her eyes, and Jack just nodded in response. He got a nod of approval back, something fiery in Diane’s eyes, something deadly protective, like a lioness. She grabbed some tissues off the nightstand, and started wiping the blood off as best as she could.

Jack looked up again, realized that the chair next to Bozer was empty, and that Bozer was eating a giant sandwich that smelled really good, and was in a fresh change of clothes and no longer smelled like the inside of a gym.

He blinked.

‘Where’s Mac? And where’d you get that grub, man?’

Bozer swallowed his mouthful of sandwich, then spoke.

‘Mac’s in the shower, and the sandwich…’ Dr Taylor ducked around the curtain, a second sandwich, just as large and delicious-smelling as Bozer’s, on a plate in her hands. ‘…two words: Lil’ Doc.’

Dr Taylor held the sandwich out to Jack, who took it eagerly and immediately took a huge bite, which earned an exasperated, but ultimately indulgent and affectionate look from Diane.

The doctor smiled wryly at that too, before pointing very firmly at Jack, tilting her chin up slightly.

‘When Mac gets out of the shower and you are done with that, which is obviously not going to take long, you are going to take a shower.’

She left absolutely no room for argument. In fact, the way she said it made Jack turn his head to give his shirt sleeve a sniff, something which he instantly regretted.

Diane patted his arm.

‘You _do_ stink, darling.’

* * *

**FOUR DAYS LATER**

* * *

‘…I’m not so sure about going for the Major Leagues, Boze…’

Riley, sitting up in her hospital bed and looking far more herself and _alive_ , laughed as Mac tried to convince Bozer that quitting his job and trying out for Major League baseball solely based on his really good hit on Silva was a Bad Idea.

Sitting on the other side of her bed, Jack and her mom just smiled, Diane shaking her head fondly as Jack joined in the conversation, a silly grin on his face, encouraging Bozer’s baseball dreams solely to wind Mac up.

Riley rolled her eyes affectionately (idiots, the lot of them, but they were her idiots), and turned to Beth, who was just finishing a check-up.

‘Jack’s taking us out for Skeeball and pizza once you let me out of here, Beth. Want to come with?’

The other young woman hesitated, and shifted her weight a little uncomfortably, rubbing her left arm with her right.

‘I…I, uh, well, thanks for offering, but I, um, need to make sure I’m not scheduled on-shift and…well, you know, the infirmary never sleeps.’

Beth smiled apologetically, looking distinctly awkward, and made for her office to finish updating Riley’s medical records.

Matty, sitting at the foot of Riley’s bed, exchanged a glance with the hacker, then got up to follow the doctor.

* * *

‘Beth?’

The doctor turned around.

‘Yes, boss?’

Matty smiled at her again, firm but gentle like she’d had a few nights ago, and walked up next to her.

‘Your training taught you to maintain a certain relationship with your patients.’ Matty paused. ‘But we do our best work with people we care about.’ The expression on her face turned wry. ‘Case in point, you can make Jim listen.’ That got a matching smile, a touch sheepish, out of the younger woman, and Matty looked her straight in the eye, with all the wisdom and experience of a woman who’d spent most of her life in the spy game. ‘With the lives we live, the secrets we keep, if you try and keep a professional distance, you’ll just be lonely.’ She paused again, gestured at the curtains that hid Riley’s bed from view, as laughter emanated, along with a half-hearted protest from Mac to do with a popcorn button, of all things. ‘That’s why we’re a family at the Phoenix.’

Beth just nodded slowly, taking it all in, but Matty knew that such a substantial shift in her world view, in the way she did things, was going to take a while.

(It’d started with her befriending Jim, months ago, but it was still very much in progress. Matty had seen the Phoenix’s newest doctor struggle a little, with being friends – close friends, too – with her boss, who was also sometimes her patient.)

Still, it seemed the young woman was taking it to heart, and that made her glad.

Even she wouldn’t have made her way through the events of the last year without her family by her side, after all.

* * *

Ten minutes later, files fully updated, Beth slipped back into Riley’s ‘room’, looking a little shy and awkward.

‘Well, I’m apparently being taken off all night shifts for the next week…’ She’d worked several while Riley was ill. ‘…and I like Skeeball. And pizza!’

Riley grinned. It was hard not have a certain camaraderie with the person who’d spent the last week or so trying to save your life and nursing you back to health, especially not after you’d thrown up over them.

(Besides, Beth was nice, and about her age, and Riley – or at least, who she was now, not the young, angry, guarded woman who’d been in super-max – was always up for a new girlfriend, especially one who could put James MacGyver in his place, including, apparently, while with an electric shock collar around her neck and the prisoner of a ‘Big Bad’, as Bozer called Walsh.)

‘Trust me, Beth, you won’t like this pizza.’

Jack looked very put out.

‘The grease is what makes it! Gives it its charm!’

Bozer flung his hands up in the air.

‘Of all the great pizza cities in the world that you’ve been to – Naples, Rome, New York, Chicago…you pick _that_ as your favourite?’

‘Grease. Charm.’

‘Mac likes grease, and it gives him weird charm, sure, but not on pizza!’

* * *

_For the record, yes, I do wind up covered in grease pretty often._

_According to, uh, several members of the opposite sex, it does give me an odd charm. I don’t get it, but you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as my grandpa always said._

_But I do not like that grease-covered foodstuff that Jack calls his favourite pizza either._

_Still, guess what we’re having for dinner tomorrow night?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made Mac and Jack fight…but hey, they made up! There was plenty of Team-as-Family fluff! (I maintain there is no such thing as too much, not when it comes to the Phoenix family!) I hope you guys enjoyed! 
> 
> There is no episode tag for _Moments So Dear_ for this ep (don’t worry, the gang’s Skeeball nights are a regular feature of this story and will appear ‘on-screen’ eventually), and here’s the press release for the next ep, which will be up in two weeks:
> 
> 4.06, Trick/Treat. The team goes undercover at a Halloween masquerade to catch a CIA agent turned serial killer as she hunts her next target. Also, the family puts on their annual haunted house at Mac’s.
> 
> See you then!


	6. Trick/Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team goes undercover at a Halloween masquerade to catch a CIA agent turned serial killer as she hunts her next target. Also, the family puts on their annual haunted house at Mac’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early as I'm not feeling too well, and could do with a pick-me-up.

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

‘…seriously, guys, you have _got_ to get some kind of organization system for the garage!’

Riley, her messy bun decidedly messier than she’d intended, strode back into Mac’s house, arms full of the extra-large spiders.

She caught sight of the house’s inhabitants, who were tossing candy corn into each other’s mouths underneath some freshly-hung spider-webs, and shook her head affectionately and exasperatedly, putting the spiders down on the kitchen table for her mom and Jack to hang up once they were done with the spider-webs. Matty, who was sitting at the table, carving an intricate design into a pumpkin, glanced at her, and then, a little almost-smirk appeared on her face, and she raised her voice.

‘Alright, Blondie, Bozer, break time’s over, back to work!’

It was very much in a ‘boss’ tone of voice, and hilariously, Bozer snapped to attention and saluted. That got a round of snorts and chuckles, and Matty smiled, glancing at Riley, who grinned back at the older woman, then turned back to her pumpkin. Meanwhile, Mac picked up the control box for the ghost projector (it was acting up), while Bozer got to work painting ‘blood’ onto the walls.

Riley climbed up onto the very crowded dining table (all of Mac’s furniture was reinforced, solely because he’d gotten bored one day, so it could support her weight, literally dozens of pumpkins and pounds and pounds of candy), and started passing spiders to her mom and Jack, who were balanced on ladders, helping them out…and working out the best place to hang the little surprise she, Mac and Jack had planned for Bozer.

(Sure, an octopus didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the décor…but they hadn’t been able to resist.)

* * *

As they turned the deck into a clearing in the woods about to be used for a witch-coven meeting (well, that was what Bozer had described it as, anyway, and there was an honest-to-God cauldron on the fire-pit), Jack put down one of the many miniature pine trees that Mac had somehow obtained (his boy apparently had a friend who ran a nursery – Mac had a lot of friends, sometimes in very unexpected places, particularly for a man who’d grown from a boy who’d had a grand total of three friends, one of whom was his 8th grade science teacher). He wiped his sweaty forehead, and turned to Diane, who was arranging an array of props (red toadstools, a fake cat, some broomsticks, glass jars and bottles – some in very interesting shapes – full of multi-coloured liquids with swirls and glitter and multiple layers that Mac promised were 100% safe for human consumption…). She just smiled at him, amusement in her eyes, and gave a soft little chuckle. Jack made a questioning face, and she just stepped forward, wiping some dirt off his forehead, showing him her dirt-smeared fingers. Jack made a little noise of understanding, and rummaged in his pocket for his handkerchief, which Diane promptly stole, a little grin on her face, stealing a quick kiss as she did.

Jack just smiled, soft and fond and broad, and brushed off his hands on his pants, then headed back through to the front yard to grab the next tree.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mac, Bozer and Riley were gathered around Mac’s laptop, Skyping Desi. The Vietnamese-American agent was in a safehouse somewhere (not that they knew _where_ ), in a T-shirt and her usual khakis, feet up on the table, leaning back in her chair, and digging into her DIY spicy ranch chips (original-flavoured ones sprinkled with the special seasoning Mac had sent her).

Bozer was grinning and rubbing his hands together eagerly, and as he finished speaking, pointed at her.

‘…I’ve been seriously wondering, what’s your go-to Halloween look?’

‘Do you have one?’ Mac’s eyes widened a little, and he looked sheepish, like he realized he was digging himself into a hole. ‘Uh, well, I mean, you know, you’re…’

He cut himself off as he realized he was just digging himself deeper, looking even more sheepish.

Desi just arched an eyebrow teasingly.

‘I’m not terrifying enough already?’

She tilted her head back to tip the last of the spicy ranch chips into her mouth, while the other three young agents shrugged, Bozer turning to his BFF.

‘She’s got a point, bro.’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Mac, Jack, Bozer and Riley filed into the war room, where there were four headshots on the big screen. The first was a surveillance photo of a Latino man aged in his fifties, the second a law enforcement ID photo of a severe-looking Asian woman in her thirties, the third a military photo of a handsome blonde man in uniform in his early forties, and the fourth what appeared to be a wedding photo of a very pretty red-head who couldn’t have been much older than Mac and Riley.

Bozer looked between the photos, squinting a little like he was trying to write a story in his head (doubtlessly outrageous) to connect the four, while Riley crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at Matty in question. Mac tilted his head a little to the side, thinking, and grabbed a paperclip instinctively, while Jack plonked himself down in one of the armchairs.

(He knew this mission briefing was going to take a while.)

In response, Matty just arched an eyebrow slightly at them all, then spoke, tapping on her tablet as she did.

The first photo enlarged itself.

‘This is Alexandro Sanchez. Until two months ago, he was the head of the largest drug cartel in Morelos, Mexico.’

Jack’s brow furrowed.

‘What happened to him two months ago? Decide to retire to a beachside villa, drinking those colourful drinks with umbrellas in ‘em?’

Matty put a hand on her hip, and spoke sarcastically.

‘What do you think, Dalton?’

‘Eh, well, drug lords don’t usually get the whole gold watch retirement thing…’

Matty nodded, as if to say, _well, duh,_ and tapped her tablet again, and the image on the screen changed, to a crime scene in a Mexican farmhouse, with a very much dead Alexandro Sanchez in the middle of it, a bullet through his brain, and one more through his heart. Execution-style.

‘Sanchez was no exception.’ She tapped her tablet again, and the image on-screen shifted to the woman from law enforcement. ‘Five weeks ago, FBI agent Laura Chin was found dead in her home in D.C.’ A photo of another crime scene appeared, showing Agent Chin, having apparently bled out through a wound in her abdomen. ‘And three weeks ago, Major Kenny Whitfield, US Special Forces, was found dead on Eglin Air Force Base in Florida, from a gunshot wound severing his femoral artery.’ Eyebrows went up at that; it was a tough shot to make to say the least, not being centre mass, and murdering a Spec Ops soldier on a military base? Matty nodded in acknowledgement of that, and tapped her tablet again. ‘Two days ago, Ellie Stokes, a newlywed housewife, was murdered while her husband was at work.’ The image on the screen changed, into the red-headed woman in the kitchen, still wearing an apron, a gunshot wound in her chest. Matty paused for a moment, before turning back to the team. ‘These murders had no apparent link. The victims had nothing in common…apart from the weapon used to kill them.’ A photo of a standard-issue Glock, a dime-a-dozen weapon, appeared on the screen. ‘It was completely untraceable, until Phoenix techs got hold of it.’ She tapped her tablet once again, and an image of a very, very heavily redacted mission report from the CIA came up. It was so redacted, in fact, that the fact it was a mission report and was from the CIA was just about all they could get from it. ‘This gun was used once on a CIA op, by an agent who was KIA.’

Mac gestured at the screen, then looked down at their boss.

‘Any more details you can get us?’

Matty shook her head, lips thinning a little in annoyance.

‘That’s everything I know, Baby Einstein. Someone at the CIA’s playing hardball on this one.’

Mac, Jack, Bozer and Riley exchanged a glance. This stank like a cover-up, especially with the tone in Matty’s voice, and the fact that she, of all people, was being stone-walled so effectively.

Coupled with the fact that all four murders had been executed so well, and that one was of a Spec Ops soldier on-base, another a drug lord in his own home?

Riley uncrossed her arms and voiced what they were all thinking.

‘You think the KIA agent wasn’t KIA…and has instead gone serial killer?’

Matty nodded slowly.

‘It’s not a possibility I want to think about…’ One of their own, gone so rogue, was disturbing and most likely tragic. ‘…but it’s definitely a possibility.’ She paused, looked straight at the four of them. ‘Whoever this killer is, we have got to stop them before someone else dies.’

That got four nods of firm agreement, and Mac dropped a paperclip on the coffee table as they filed out.

A ghost.

* * *

Riley and Bozer sat in front of their laptops at a table in the lab, surrounded by forensic techs, who were going through the boxes of physical evidence that Matty had arranged to have sent over from all four crime scenes. Given the frustrated grumblings and frequent noises of disappointment, despite the huge quantity of _stuff,_ there was very little by way of evidence.

(Laura Chin ate way too many TV dinners. There were traces of cocaine all over Sanchez’s stuff, which given what he did for a living, wasn’t surprising. Major Whitfield washed his clothes at the base laundromat, given the brand of laundry powder he used. Ellie Stokes had been baking snickerdoodles with fancy, expensive, organic, grass-fed butter from Wisconsin.)

‘…come on, there’s gotta be a money trail, there’s always a money trail…’

Bozer was digging through financials, and having about as much luck as the forensic techs.

(Laura Chin’s spending habits were just depressing, and TV dinners were not good value for money. Sanchez’s accountant had been skimming money from him, which probably explained why the man had been murdered on his boss’s orders three months ago. Major Whitfield was a bit of a Keanu Reeves fanboy, which Bozer got. The man had _presence._ Ellie Stokes seemed to have had the life ambition to be a cross between Johanna Gaines and Ina Garten.)

Meanwhile, Riley was combing through the dark web, trying to find out if there’d been a hit out on any of the four victims.

‘…well, that’s not going to help.’

(Laura Chin was a paper-pusher at the FBI, so nothing on her. People rarely had personal vendettas against one specific Green Beret, so there were no hits out on Whitfield either. Why anyone wanted to kill a housewife who was best known for her neighbourhood bake sales and love of shiplap was an excellent question, as was who _wouldn’t_ want to murder a drug lord. All in all, Riley had a lot of hits out for Sanchez, and no hits out for anyone else.)

* * *

**OLD ABANDONED SILOS**

**RURAL CALIFORNIA**

* * *

‘…all I’m saying, brother, is that this time of year, the barrier between our world and their world gets real thin-‘

‘Jack, there is no such thing as a spirit world-‘

‘I’m gonna make you believe, brother, just you wait!’

Mac rolled his eyes at his superstitious partner as the two of them got out of the car, having pulled up at the old grain silos in pretty much the middle of nowhere, following up on a potential lead (the only one they had, honestly) on the serial killer/assassin, who may or may not be a not-KIA ex-CIA agent.

He had to admit, the abandoned buildings did seem somewhat eerie, but that did _not_ mean that there were ghosts about, as Jack insisted.

Jack pulled his weapon out, and Mac took his Swiss Army knife from his pocket and got to work picking the padlock on the door of the first silo.

* * *

**FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER**

* * *

‘…I told you so, man, I told you so!’

Jack came to, pulling himself up into a sitting position with Mac’s aid, even as the blonde rolled his eyes at the very first words out of his partner’s mouth.

The older man had gotten hit by the dart full of knockout agent when he’d stepped on a pressure plate. Minutes before, Mac had rescued them from being shot by a laser-targeted gun rig with a bit of trickery involving Jack’s phone and a stick of gum he’d happened to have in his pocket. And just before that, Jack had almost fallen into one of those pit traps, like the one Harper Hayes had gotten him with, but had realized it just in time.

And the two of them were still searching the first silo.

Mac helped Jack to his feet, and they headed towards a tight corridor that led to the next silo, both on high alert.

‘The presence of a disturbingly large number of admittedly well-designed traps is not an indication of the existence of ghosts or other supernatural beings, Jack.’

Jack took a long moment to parse that.

‘ _Scooby Doo,_ brother, _Scooby Doo_!’

‘A, that’s a TV show, B, in _Scooby Doo,_ the villain is always revealed to be human, not a ghost or a vampire or the Loch Ness monster!’

* * *

An hour later, Mac and Jack were exhausted, having evaded no fewer than sixteen traps.

They’d also found nothing.

Given the traps, it was pretty clear that this used to be the serial killer’s lair, and that whoever they were, they had some _serious_ skills.

But they had nothing else.

‘Brother?’

When Jack called out to him, Mac looked up from where he was studying the remnants of the sixteenth trap.

‘Yeah?’

Jack gestured at the old crates and pallets that dotted the silo, his expression serious, grim.

‘I reckon we _are_ dealing with an agent who’s snapped.’ Jack gestured again at the arrangement of crates and pallets. ‘This is exactly how I’d do cover in here.’

Mac nodded in agreement, holding up a series of knotted ropes.

‘This level of knot-tying is generally only seen in military and/or intelligence personnel, certain hobbyists and _really_ dedicated Boy Scouts.’

A look of understanding and sadness and guilt and regret passed between them.

Less than a year ago, Griggs, broken and reformed into something terrible, something they didn’t recognize until it was almost too late, had played a terrible game with them.

Was this another twisted game created by someone twisted out of recognition?

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…so, we got nothing.’

Bozer slumped backwards in his chair, as Riley did the same with a huff, crossing her arms in frustration.

‘Yeah.’

They had nothing, Matty was still in her office trying to make the CIA stop stonewalling, and Mac and Jack were still at the silos, but had reported in to say that they hadn’t found anything useful yet, just a whole lot of _Scooby Doo-_ style traps.

Riley and Bozer exchanged a look, just as the hacker’s computer chimed with an email, from an address she didn’t recognize.

Brow furrowing, Riley leaned forward and started typing, pulling up the email, as Bozer looked over her shoulder.

**Stop.**

**You’re not on the list.**

**Don’t get in the way.**

That was it.

Riley and Bozer exchanged a wide-eyed look, and immediately, Riley got to work trying to trace the email address, while Bozer texted Matty.

(This was _so_ Halloween appropriate – he was definitely making this into a movie one day…once their lives got declassified, anyway.)

* * *

As her phone buzzed in her pocket, Matty deliberately broke eye contact with Bill from the CIA, in a way that made it clear to him that this wasn’t over.

She pulled out her phone, and, her best poker face in place, read the text from Bozer.

Then, she smiled in a way that had Bill, on her tablet screen, shiver in fear (not that it showed), and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her desk, but not before giving Andi a very quick hand signal.

The other woman gave one back, then pulled out her own phone to text Agents Dalton and MacGyver to return to HQ.

They hadn’t found anything useful at those silos.

This was definitely, absolutely _personal._

And Andi would bet that within thirty minutes, their boss would be ready to read them in to that mysterious CIA mission.

* * *

In the war room, Matty tapped her tablet, then turned to face Mac, Jack, Bozer and Riley, her expression grave.

Her eyes lingered on Mac and Jack for a moment, softening a tiny bit with sympathy, before turning very serious again.

‘The gun was issued three years ago to CIA agent Hailey Tait, for a mission to assassinate the head of the Puebla cartel.’ Matty paused. ‘The mission went south. She was declared KIA, based on intel from her partner and the Spec Ops team sent as their support.’ Matty paused again. ‘Recently, the CIA realized that they thought wrong…when Sanchez and Chin turned up dead.’

Her tone made it very clear what she thought of the fact they hadn’t _shared_ that suspicion.

Mac and Jack exchanged a glance, full of meaning.

An agent presumed dead, missing for years, then resurfacing, with a hit list?

_Pardon the pun, but it hits too close to home._

_Griggs is in a secure psychiatric ward. He’s either catatonic or raving angrily or sobbing whenever I visit. The staff say that that’s normal for him. They also say that he might well be like that for the rest of his life._

_Samrozi destroyed him, and turned him into someone unrecognizable._

_What happened to Agent Tait?_

* * *

**THREE YEARS AGO**

**CIA HEADQUARTERS**

* * *

Laura Chin, CIA analyst, reviewed her intel report on the Puebla cartel, which was expanding rapidly and becoming a serious threat.

It had to be neutralized, and they had a window of opportunity.

The cartel’s El Jefe, a notoriously secretive figure whose name they didn’t even know, was travelling away from his highly-secure compound to meet with the head of the Senora cartel to discuss ‘business’.

One of the few things they knew about him was a weakness for beautiful, young women, with a preference for red-heads and blondes.

Chin pulled up the profile of a CIA team, Agent Tait and Agent Stokes. Both young, beautiful and specialists in undercover wetworks.

Tait was blonde, Stokes a red-head.

A perfect fit for the mission. She didn’t even need to bother reading further into their mission records.

She added the recommendation to her report.

* * *

Alexandro Sanchez sipped his drink, his expression impassive.

He was well aware of the reason why the Senora cartel head had _insisted_ he attend this business meeting.

His business rival suspected that he had turned rat.

(Which was true. He and the CIA had reached an agreement, favourable to both sides.)

(But he was not going to let his rivals know that.)

(He had a sense of self-preservation.)

However, his brain was whirring at a million miles a minute.

In his typical, showy and frankly foolish fashion, his Puebla counterpart had insisted on inviting a number of young, beautiful women to their little soiree, to ‘liven things up a little’.

Alexandro did not usually pay much attention to them. They generally all looked more or less the same, anyway.

But this time, one of the girls stood out.

He recognized her, but the last time he’d seen her, she was dressed very, very differently. In stained khakis and a flannel shirt, a large backpack on her back, a scarf around her hair, not an elegant, racy evening gown.

Playing a backpacker, not eye candy.

As different as she looked, she was unmistakeably a one-time CIA contact of his.

(He’d had a few, in between his regular contacts.)

Alexandro sipped his drink again.

He had no fondness or sentimentality for the CIA.

You did not survive long in his business if you were sentimental.

It was a business deal, no more, no less.

And he had to throw suspicion off himself, somehow.

The CIA would understand.

(They acted holier-than-thou, but he did not view them as being any better than the man he saw in the mirror.)

* * *

Ellie Stokes cursed as she ran through the jungle, evading the sicarios, pushing away her grief, compartmentalizing it all away until she could deal with it, later, pretty much ignoring the fact that she’d seen her partner, her best friend, Hailey, take not one, but two gunshots to centre mass as they’d fled the compound, and drop like a marionette who’d had her strings cut, her blood spilling all over the dirt…

Ellie shook her head, pushing it away, and continued to run, a pilfered weapon, a small handgun, in her right hand.

She still couldn’t believe they’d been made. She and Hailey were _the best_ , and there’d been no slip-ups, even by their high standards.

* * *

**NINE MONTHS LATER**

* * *

‘…I have a shot.’

Whitfield lay flat on the rooftop, looking through the scope of his sniper rifle, finger on the trigger.

Agent Stokes’ voice came through his earpiece.

‘Take the shot.’

He did, and hundreds of yards away, the El Jefe of the Puebla cartel dropped, a bullet through his brain.

‘Kill confirmed.’ Whitfield quickly packed up his rifle, readying for ex-fil. ‘Any luck, Stokes?’

He’d been on that mission nine months ago, the one that’d cost Stokes her partner.

‘No.’

Her response was short, and far too depressingly resigned for someone her age, in his opinion.

(Scuttlebutt was that Stokes was planning on leaving the Agency as soon as her and her partner’s last mission was completed. Whitfield had seen nothing to contradict that, and he’d bet that since they’d found no sign of Tait being miraculously alive in their surveillance, Stokes was going to be out the door ASAP.)

(He didn’t blame her.)

* * *

**TWO MONTHS AGO**

**MORELOS**

**MEXICO**

* * *

Hailey Tait didn’t flinch as she shot the kneeling, bound drug lord in front of her twice, execution-style, ignoring his pitiful pleas and excuses and attempts to buy her off.

She wasn’t taking blood money.

Especially not his money, paid for in _her_ blood.

(He’d sold her out; now he thought he could buy her back?)

Tait didn’t flinch leaving a bloody scene behind.

She only flinched when she caught sight of her reflection in a decorative mirror, saw the burn scar that marred her left cheek, the scar that ran from just above her left eyebrow to her left cheekbone, over her eye.

Tait had to resist the urge to destroy that mirror, knowing she couldn’t leave any evidence behind.

Not if she wanted to get through her list.

And that was all she had left now.

* * *

**FIVE WEEKS AGO**

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

* * *

Ignoring the woman bleeding out on the floor, gasping and begging, consciousness wavering, Tait eyed the TV dinner with disgust, clenching her fists tightly, digging her nails into her palms to avoid screaming, yelling, throwing things.

Laura Chin had had one job.

She was an analyst. A researcher.

And she hadn’t done her research.

(Hailey Tait should never have been on that mission, not when Sanchez could have recognized her, even if he hadn’t been on their expected guest list.)

(He was a drug lord, head of a cartel of similar size to the other two, a business rival and sometimes colleague; it wasn’t surprising that he might have been at that fateful meet, was it? And wasn’t it an analyst’s job to find and analyse intel, such as who might be added to the guest list?)

(Not a risk worth taking.)

(Not a risk that should have been taken…all because some analyst – some paper-pusher whose job was safe, whose biggest risks were carpal tunnel syndrome and an overly sedentary lifestyle - hadn’t done her job.)

Tait took one last glance at the dying woman bleeding out over her carpet, and strode out of the house.

Two down. Three to go.

* * *

**THREE WEEKS AGO**

**EGLIN AIR FORCE BASE**

**FLORIDA**

* * *

Without hesitation, Tait pulled the trigger.

As soon as she saw her target was down, her shot having hit the exact spot she was aiming for, she packed up and quickly prepared to disappear, quietly _seething_ all the way.

She had always been the better shot.

She, unlike _him,_ had bled and suffered and as far as anyone she’d ever cared about thought, _died_ for the cause.

But who was the hero? Who’d gotten all the kudos from the higher-ups? Who’d gotten the promotion?

Who’d gotten what she’d deserved, oh-so-rightly?

* * *

**TWO DAYS AGO**

**PORTLAND**

**OREGON**

* * *

Tait knelt by the woman in an apron gasping for her last breaths on her kitchen floor, blood coating the tile, making it slick and slippery.

Ellie’s eyes were wide, disbelieving, like she couldn’t believe this was happening, like she couldn’t believe _what_ was happening.

‘Hailey…’

It was barely more than a whisper.

Tait just locked eyes with the other woman, with her old partner, her former best friend, who’d _left her behind_ , let her spend years being _tortured._

(If anything, it’d only gotten worse after El Jefe was killed, when one of his lieutenants seized power, and her.)

‘We were sisters.’

It was angry and hurt and bitter and a tiny, tiny bit sad and regretful.

Tait got up, walked out of the kitchen, got halfway down the hall before she turned and looked back, just for a second.

Then, she shook herself, and turned around again, leaving the house.

It was only later, in a ‘borrowed’ car that she realized there were tears running down her cheeks.

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Mac, Jack, Bozer and Riley exchanged a glance as Matty finished briefing them on that mission that’d gone wrong, the links between the four victims, and what the CIA suspected Tait had suffered over the three years.

This was almost Griggs all over again.

In some ways, this was worse.

Griggs hadn’t actually _succeeded_ in killing Mac and/or Jack, after all.

Eventually, Jack spoke, crossing his arms, as serious as he ever was.

‘Who ordered that op, boss?’

They all knew that whoever that was, they had to be next on Tait’s list.

Matty arched an eyebrow rather dryly, and tapped her tablet.

‘You’ll never guess.’

* * *

**THREE YEARS AGO**

**CIA HEADQUARTERS**

* * *

Kevin Huang, CIA handler and considered someone to watch in the Agency, rising rapidly towards the Director’s chair, nodded at the two young women who strode into his office, pushing a pair of files across to them.

‘Stokes, Tait, I have a mission for you. Right in your wheelhouse.’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…seriously? What are the odds?’ Bozer actually turned to Mac. ‘Bro?’

Mac’s thinking-face appeared, and he muttered to himself.

‘Taking into account the number of candidates rumoured to have been up for the CIA Directorship, and…’ Matty shot him a _look_ , one that clearly said _this is not the time, Baby Einstein_ , and Mac shut up, looking sheepish. ‘Uh, sorry. Not appropriate, I’ll do the math later.’

Their boss put her hands on her hips.

‘Thank you, Baby Einstein.’ She tapped her tablet again. ‘Director Huang is attending a Halloween masquerade for the elite of law enforcement, politics and intelligence in D.C. tonight.’

Matty wondered which HR department had come up with that – an event in which identity concealment was part of the dress code, for a crowd full of high-profile targets? Judging by Mac’s eyebrow raise, Riley’s crossed arms and Jack’s not-quite-under-his-breath muttering, they thought the same. Bozer on the other hand…

‘Does that mean we get two sets of Halloween costumes this year?’

Bozer was actually grinning.

Matty quirked a brow at him, but couldn’t help the little hint of a smile that threatened to break through either.

(Bozer did, at heart, understand the gravity of the situations they often worked in. But he was also great at finding a little light in the darkness, bringing some levity to grave situations.)

‘Yes. I’ve secured myself a last-minute invite.’ She hated kissing the ring, especially getting all dressed up to do so, but they couldn’t call off the party, have Huang not show up, or do anything that might tip off Tait; she’d adjust, as a highly trained operative would, to either get him there anyway, or get him somewhere else. This was their best chance to take her down and protect Huang. ‘The four of you will be attending as my security.’

Bozer rubbed his hands together.

‘I’ve always wanted to do a masquerade for Halloween!’

Matty smiled wryly.

‘So has Walter.’

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**ON-ROUTE TO D.C.**

* * *

‘…for a 40-regular, these are on the tight side…’

Jack, wearing a smart suit with a cravat, along with a gilded half-mask that matched his cravat, complained as he adjusted his trousers.

His partner, who was sitting in his seat, reading the latest edition of _New Scientist,_ rolled his eyes at Jack’s antics, before raising a hand to his hair, then pulling it back at the last minute. Mac didn’t exactly _enjoy_ wearing a tux and bowtie (they weren’t so practical for his line of work – Wardrobe always complained when he got grease on what they gave him; besides, he maintained that a tux clashed with the grease under his nails), but had gotten reasonably accustomed to it, and his domino mask wasn’t uncomfortable, but he really didn’t like hair gel.

Riley, meanwhile, made a face as Jack unpicked an apparent wedgie, before turning back to doing her hair, taming it so it didn’t obscure her very ornate half-mask, which came with black feathers, matching her black, slightly shimmery dress.

Bozer, who was suited up himself, another elaborate half-mask on his seat, helping Matty (in navy blue, with a matching domino mask on a stick) with her make-up, called out to Jack.

‘Well, I did double-check that Walter gave you the right size, man, so if they’re not fitting right…’

Mac smirked teasingly.

‘It’s your problem.’

Riley, too, smirked.

‘Might be time to cut back on the weekly large meat-lovers, old man.’

* * *

**HALLOWEEN MASQUERADE**

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

* * *

‘…I got a bad feeling about this, brother.’

Jack casually took a pair of canapes from a circulating waiter, and stuffed one into his mouth. Mac quirked an eyebrow at him, not that it was visible behind his mask.

‘I couldn’t tell.’

Jack was inelegantly stuffing his face, as usual.

Still, his partner had a point.

He hadn’t expected it to be the case, but masquerade masks were surprisingly good at concealing identities. They threw off a lot of facial recognition parameters, he supposed.

_Maybe Robin’s ability to maintain a secret identity is more than suspension of disbelief._

* * *

Matty, _conveniently_ conversing with Director Huang, carefully watched her surroundings without seeming like she was watching, a skill she had perfected over the years.

Her focus narrowed imperceptibly on a woman in a long-sleeved, slinky, flattering, but ultimately nondescript evening dress, something attractive, but not memorable.

The same could be said of her mask, an ornate Phantom-of-the-Opera-style one that concealed the top half of her face, as well as the entire left side. Her eye make-up was done to match, heavy and colourful, so that it looked like it was part of the mask.

The woman was brunette, but hair dye was cheap and easy to use.

There was something about her build, the way she moved, the way she’d dressed, that set all of Matty’s senses on high alert, that gave her a gut feeling that she was looking at Hailey Tait.

Deliberately, slowly, seemingly naturally, Matty turned away a little, said a few code words that meant _eight o’clock, burgundy dress, black mask_ just loud enough so her team’s earpieces would pick it up.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tait tense ever-so-slightly, and then, calmly, seemingly naturally, move through the crowd, away from Matty and Director Huang, and deeper into the crowd.

Matty dropped all pretence, and raised a hand to her earpiece.

‘She’s made us. Mac, Jack-‘

‘Chase her down, got it, boss!’

From what she could pick up over Jack’s earpiece, he and his partner were already in pursuit.

‘Riley-‘

‘Tracking her on the security cameras. Mac, Jack, you want a left next…’

‘Bozer-‘

‘Double-O-Boze is on his way over!’

Matty pulled her gun out of her purse (the mechanism Mac had developed really was ingenious), and along with Director Huang’s security, took up a position defending the CIA Director. She allowed herself a little smile as Bozer materialized out of the crowd, Mac’s lipstick stun-gun in hand.

Her team, despite appearances, really was the best.

* * *

Mac and Jack ran through the mansion hosting the party, following Riley’s directions, until they reached a small room at the end of a hallway…which was completely empty.

Automatically, Mac’s eyes flickered upwards.

(He’d often taken advantage of the fact that people didn’t look up.)

Tait was not hanging from the ceiling, Spiderman-style.

Jack turned to his partner.

‘We considered the possibility that Tait _was_ actually KIA, but her ghost’s crossed back over to do her hit-list?’ Jack crossed his arms. ‘You’re always saying that saying; if you get rid of the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, has to be the truth?’

Mac rolled his eyes, and strode over to the far wall and rapped on it.

‘Yeah, still no such thing as ghosts, Jack. But you got the quote more-or-less right.’ He continued tapping along the wall, listening carefully, then made a noise of satisfaction, and pushed on a wall panel…which clicked open, revealing a narrow passageway. ‘On the other hand…’

‘Secret passageway!’ Jack grinned as he followed Mac through the concealed doorway. ‘Seriously awesome; way cooler than your secret escape hatch, brother…’

* * *

‘…I hate secret passageways, brother, hate ‘em. Can’t stand ‘em!’

Mac just shot Jack a _look,_ as ten minutes later, having travelled through a maze of dusty, cobweb-filled, low-ceilinged hallways and staircases, where the floors squeaked and every sound echoed and there were thumps from upstairs that set their teeth on edge, they came to a T-junction.

He raised a hand to his earpiece.

‘Riley?’

He wasn’t even sure if they’d get reception here; the walls seemed to be stone. Thick stone, too.

There was some crackling, and then, he got a response, full of interference, but understandable.

‘Can’t find her…on your own….’

The partners exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between the two of them. Jack double-checked his weapon, then started to head left, while Mac headed right, the brunette muttering under his breath.

‘…definitely overrated, you’d better not build one of these under your house, man…or I’m gonna have to call off this bromance…and don’t think I ain’t gonna do that, ‘cause I didn’t with the steaks, and that was irreconcilable differences…’

Mac snorted and shook his head with extremely exasperated fondness as he headed down the hallway.

* * *

Mac was walking down the hallway, on high alert, when some kind of instinct alerted him, and he whirled around, just in time to see Tait and just duck out of the headlock she was about to put him in. He dropped and rolled out of the way, then kicked out his legs to trip her, putting his hands up as he sprung to his feet.

‘I don’t want to hurt you, Hailey.’

Tait looked up at him, springing to her feet just as easily as he had, what little of her face he could see set into something determined and angry and bitter.

‘Well, you’re going to have to, pretty boy.’

She lunged at him, and Mac, timing it perfectly, grabbed her wrist and used her momentum to fling her into the wall, trying unsuccessfully to pin her to it with an arm behind her back. She elbowed him very, very hard in the stomach, forcing him to let her go, then kicked him hard in the same spot, a hit made more painful by her high heels. Mac grunted in pain, bent over a little, but locked eyes with her again.

‘I know you’ve suffered a lot, Hailey, but killing the people you blame isn’t going to get you those years back, or ease your suffering…’ He evaded the flurry of kicks Tait used to press him into a wall, taking advantage of an odd ledge to push up off the ground and kick at her with both legs, sending her reeling several feet back, before pressing his advantage to get her into a headlock. ‘…it’s just going to get you locked in a concrete box…’ Mac’s voice softened. ‘…and more suffering.’

Stokes had been her partner, her best friend. Whitfield had been a teammate, Huang a respected co-worker.

Tait went slack in his grip, so he loosened it automatically, only to realize less than a second later that that had been a terrible idea, because she elbowed him hard in the nose, bringing tears into his eyes, and stomped very hard on his foot.

* * *

A couple of minutes later, Mac was on the floor, his head ringing, nose aching and with what was probably going to become a very impressive shiner over his left eye, as well as a bullet graze along his right bicep.

(Tait clearly knew that drawing a gun in such a small, confined space was a terrible idea, but she also seemed to have been driven beyond all reason.)

Tait was standing over his legs, her gun ( _the_ gun) pointed at his forehead, finger poised on the trigger.

Slowly, Mac raised his hands, and did his best to focus on her eyes, bitter and angry and a little wild, unhinged, through her mask.

‘Hailey…it…it might be cold comfort, but…Laura, Kenny, Director Huang, Ellie…they all felt guilty for what happened to you. They…they all felt guilty that you were dead and they’d left you behind.’

Tait visibly swallowed.

‘And how you do you know that?’

Her words were mostly a challenge, but there was something a little wavering in her voice, as well as something that sounded almost like a child, vulnerable and scared and a tiny bit hopeful. Her weapon dropped a little, fingers loosening on the trigger.

Mac swallowed, and hoped that he was making the right decision. This was a risk, but he was always willing to gamble with his own life to save others.

He spoke, his voice a little rough with emotion, guilt and regret.

‘Because I’ve been there. I’ve been them.’

Tait stared at him for a beat, then, that wild, unhinged rage crossed her eyes again, and she raised her gun again, fingers tightening on the trigger…

* * *

A gunshot ran out, and Tait dropped over his legs, a bullet hole in her head. Over Tait’s body, Mac looked up at his partner, who sheathed his weapon, strode over, and helped him shift the dead CIA agent.

The two of them crouched by her body, and Jack jostled Mac half-heartedly with his elbow.

‘Probably shouldn’t have told her that, son.’

Mac gave a very, very tiny, wry little smile.

‘Not one of my best ideas.’

The two of them fell silent for a long moment, Mac glancing at his partner, who was staring at Tait with something that wasn’t _quite_ regret in his eyes (he wouldn’t regret acting to save his boy’s life, after all), but something guilty there, something like he really wished he hadn’t had to make that call. Mac swallowed, giving a little nod, reaching out and putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder. Jack reached up to pat the younger man’s hand. Mac sighed sadly, and the older man spoke after another moment of silence, reminding him gently, but firmly.

‘She made her choices.’

Mac sighed again, nodding in acceptance of Jack’s truth nonetheless.

‘I know.’

He reached out, and through the eye holes of Tait’s mask, closed her eyes, but made no move to remove the mask.

_The tradition of wearing costumes on Halloween is thought to have begun with ancient Celts, who wore masks when leaving the house on Samhain to trick evil spirits into thinking they were one of them._

_I think Hailey Tait would prefer to be remembered as the brave, loyal agent she was…not who she was twisted into._

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**(OR IS IT, TONIGHT?)**

**HALLOWEEN**

* * *

The kids walked up the path, lined with torches and jack-o-lanterns and heavy with fog, clutching their candy baskets with excitement and a little bit of trepidation.

They reached the front door, and the bravest of them reached up and rang the doorbell.

There was a clap of thunder, and the door opened, revealing a woman dressed all in black, a long cape wrapped around her. She was dark-skinned, with pin-straight hair pulled back into a harsh bun, but there was something a little pale, a little starved about her (her cheekbones seemed just a little unnaturally sharp), and there were a few trickles of bright red blood flowing from her mouth down her chin and neck.

She smiled at them, revealing two very sharp fangs, also bloodied.

‘Fresh blood!’ The vampire opened the door wider. ‘Welcome, welcome!’

* * *

The kids, all bunched together, tip-toed a tiny bit hesitantly into the dark room. As soon as they crossed the threshold, what seemed to be hundreds of little candles lit up instantly, and a woman with wild, dark hair, in a ragged grey dress and cloak and a little too pale and starved like the vampire rose out of a mound of dirt on the ground. She took two steps towards them, and they shrank back. The woman opened her mouth, and there was a terrible, horrible scream that sounded like the screams of many, many people, somehow, all at once, and echoed unnaturally came out.

The kids screamed too, and turned and ran.

* * *

They ran into a larger room, dimly lit, again with candles. There was a man, thin and blonde and wearing a waistcoat, shirt and trousers and some very odd bronze goggles on his head, bent over one of two bodies on a wooden table, doing something they couldn’t quite make out. They could, however, just make out these reddish-brown stains on his waistcoat that matched the ones on his fingers.

The man looked over at them, directly, and they could see that he looked even paler and just as starved as the vampire and the banshee had. There was a mad, crazy spark in his eyes, too, and he smiled and called out.

‘Igor, now!’

There was a lightning strike, illuminating a dark-skinned, hunchbacked man standing in the corner by a giant lever.

‘Yes, Dr Frankenstein!’

Igor yanked the lever, and Dr Frankenstein laughed triumphantly as lightning hit the two bodies on the table.

‘They’re alive!’

‘You did it, Doctor!’

Slowly, the two bodies sat up. One was a woman with curly, almost-golden hair, the other a man, strong and muscular. She would have been beautiful and he would have been handsome…but there was something _wrong_ about them. The man had two differently-coloured hands, and his left hand seemed to be sewn to his wrist. Both of their heads seemed to be sewn to their necks, and there were stitches across their faces, like they’d been sewn back together.

Frankenstein’s Monster and his Bride sat up straighter, and looked straight at the kids, something a little hungry in their eyes. Frankenstein grinned. The kids screamed again and turned and ran.

* * *

They ran all the way out the back door, into an area surrounded by small pine trees, which had a fire in the middle, with a cauldron on it. There was a witch in a pointed hat that added a whole foot to her height stirring the cauldron. She had light brown hair that was messy and wild and seemed to have a few twigs in it, and looked pale and starved just like all the others they’d encountered, but smiled at them in a way that seemed kind.

‘Oh, you look like you’re hungry, poor things. Far, far too thin.’ She shook her head, and grabbed a bowl that seemed to be made of bark and spooned some of the contents of the cauldron into it, handing it to the nearest kid. It was full of balls of white jelly, with a black dot in the centre. ‘Frog spawn pudding?’

* * *

In the kitchen, Bozer (or Igor, as he was tonight), wearing a Dracula-themed apron for the occasion, pulled a baking tray out of the fridge, set it down on the counter and called out to Leanna-the-vampire who was sticking blueberries into lychees to put into their eyeball mocktails.

‘Finger sandwich, babe?’

He held up a small, rectangular Victorian sponge, topped with a finger-shaped rice krispy treat coated with white chocolate and decorated with red icing.

‘Don’t mind if I do…’

Leanna smiled back at him, and leaned over and took a bite as he obligingly held it up for her.

Bozer grinned as she licked her lips.

‘Best finger sandwich ever, right?’

Leanna shook her head with fond exasperation, but laughed, leaned over, stole the finger sandwich, put the rest of it down, and kissed Bozer.

* * *

Leaning against the garage door during a short lull, a giant bag of candy in hand, Riley-the-banshee (as Bozer continually described her) smiled as she watched her mom and Jack entertain a bunch of kids, Jack alternately doing a Frankenstein-walk (which was just a zombie shuffle) and pretending to steal bits of candy from the kids’ baskets, only to add an extra piece. She absolutely didn’t miss the softness, the affection and love, in her mom’s eyes as she watched Jack out of the corner of her eye while helping a little girl dressed as a princess fix up her hair, as her tiara had gotten a little askew.

Riley heard footsteps, and looked down, to find Matty coming over to stand beside her, also holding a giant bag of candy, but minus a costume.

(Bozer had backed down, conceding that Matty was terrifying enough without one.)

Matty gave a snort as Jack did a particularly stupid iteration of his Frankenstein-walk, but smiled as the former CIA agent grinned proudly at Diane, who just smiled and shook her head at him.

The older woman looked up at Riley, who was watching the scene with her eyes full of affection and pure, unadulterated happiness, and smiled wider, that same love and joy in her eyes.

* * *

Bozer watched as Jim (who had also refused a costume) walked over to where Beth was teaching a little girl dressed as a doctor how to use her stethoscope on an obliging Mac. The older man had a soft smile on his face that could only be described as fond and loving, something that Bozer was still trying to come to terms with on James MacGyver.

(Although he’d been certain that Jim had loved Mac in his own way – see college computer books or bringing home a box of junk from the dump with a challenge – he’d never seen it expressed this way during their childhood…or for months after their reunion.)

As Jim poured candy from the refill bag he was carrying into Mac’s giant beaker and Beth’s mini-cauldron for distribution to the kids, Bozer was struck by a realization.

Only two people had gotten hugs from Jim when he’d shown up for Halloween, a whole trunk of candy in tow.

(MacGyvers didn’t do anything by halves. Hence burning down the school football stadium in a small nuclear meltdown, putting on a totally extra haunted house every year, abandoning his son for _eighteen_ years, running away to _Nigeria_ after his dad’s big identity reveal and intending to never come back…or buying way too much Halloween candy.)

Mac, his son, naturally.

And Beth.

And Bozer had only seen Jim smile at two people in that soft, fond, gentle, loving way. Mac, and Beth.

Besides, he was a happily taken man, but Lil’ Doc was really, really, really smart and very pretty and was a strong, badass lady…and if Mac’s dad’s type was anything like Mac’s…

There was only one logical conclusion.

Bozer’s eyes widened, and then, he made a face.

It was going to be _so weird_ if Mac’s stepmom was younger than he was.

How the hell was he supposed to break this to Mac?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, I had to do a Halloween episode! (In Australia, Halloween’s not a big thing, but I still remember how big it was when I was a kid and living in the States – it was a lot of fun, and is one of the things I miss!) I hope you guys enjoyed it, and that you had as much fun as I did with Jack being Jack and Bozer being Bozer, and the gang’s Halloween costumes! (It’s not _MacGyver_ without a healthy dose of absurdity!)
> 
> There is no episode tag for this ep (but there will be for the next one), but here’s the press release for the next episode:
> 
> 4.07, Real/Fake. Mac and Jack go undercover in a veterans’ support group to investigate a therapist who might be radicalising her patients. Meanwhile, Bozer has a theory regarding Jim and the Phoenix’s newest doctor. 
> 
> See you in two weeks!


	7. Real/Fake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Jack go undercover in a veterans’ support group to investigate a therapist who might be radicalising her patients. Meanwhile, Bozer has a theory regarding Jim and the Phoenix’s newest doctor.

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…not saying I don’t appreciate getting out of that one still kicking, brother, but couldn’t you have thought of something else?’

Jack, covered from head to toe in what looked to be a combination of coleslaw, cheese powder, BBQ sauce and potato chip crumbs, strode back into the Phoenix alongside Mac, making a face, and then immediately glaring at Bozer, who was waiting with his phone at the ready to snap a photo or two for posterity. The Texan glared even harder at Bozer, who just grinned in a way that was probably supposed to be an attempt at contrite, but definitely did not look sorry in the slightest.

Mac, who was similarly covered, just raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to look both astounded and unsurprised, and spoke very dryly, as Oversight, who also looked as if he’d run through a barbecue party, snorted.

‘If I could have thought of something else, don’t you think I would have done it, rather than put myself off barbecue for the next month?’

Jack put his hands up in a _woah_ gesture.

‘Hey, who said anything about being off barbecue? In fact, I could really go for some ribs…’ Jack took a sniff of his sleeve. ‘Actually, I know this sounds real weird, but we smell kinda good, don’t you think?’

Riley, who was standing behind Bozer, made a disgusted face. The elevator doors opened, and out stepped Beth, who’d been informed by Bozer that Mac, Jack and Oversight were returning from a mission and would probably need a check-up, and requesting she do it, since she remained the only medical professional the Phoenix employed who could get a MacGyver to submit to proper medical care without wanting to tear their hair out.

The doctor stopped in her tracks and quite literally blinked several times in shock.

(This was weird even by Phoenix standards.)

After several blinks, she spoke, seemingly without thinking.

‘This is just ridiculous, even by your standards, Jim, Mac! _How? Why?_ What could you possibly achieve by covering yourself in _coleslaw_? Well, I suppose it might have helped to disguise your scent if…’ Beth gathered herself, giving herself a little shake, and her expression settled into something a little more professional. She gave a half-wry, half-sheepish little smile all the same. ‘Sorry, this is just, well, shall we say, not a scenario covered in medical school.’ She paused, started to lead them towards the infirmary, then turned on her heel and narrowed her eyes at Bozer. The whole motion was (unintentionally) quite comical. ‘You told me that you couldn’t tell me anything about their status because it was all highly classified…’ Her eyes narrowed further. ‘You just wanted to…’

She gestured vaguely at herself and the three men who looked like they’d lost a food-fight, badly.

Riley shot Bozer a _look_ , and punched him in the arm, none too gently.

Bozer looked utterly unrepentant.

Beth sighed, a very long-suffering, exasperated, yet very fond sound, and started herding them all towards the elevator to head to the infirmary again.

‘Alright, initial examinations, then a _thorough_ shower…’

As the elevator doors closed, Jim smiled in a way that made him look a little younger, mischievous, a bit like Mac, and leaned down to say something quietly into Beth’s ear, which made her laugh and shake her head in that long-suffering, exasperated, affectionate way again.

Mac and Jack, occupied with debating that night’s dinner menu (specifically, to barbecue or not to barbecue), and Riley, occupied with rolling her eyes at the pair’s antics, didn’t notice.

But Bozer certainly did.

The cogs in his mind continued to turn.

* * *

Three days later, Bozer looked up from where he was working on a prosthetic for Agent Torres, and glanced at the other side of the lab, where his BFF, Jim and Beth were hard at work, designing some kind of medical device for the Army.

(At least, Bozer assumed that that was what they were doing. There were scribbles all over a whiteboard that made no sense to him but looked vaguely familiar, and the lab table was covered in bits of what looked like, among other bits of metal and wiring and titbits that MacGyvers loved, an old DVD player and the breakroom’s panini press.)

(It was what they had said they were going to do a couple hours ago, anyway, when they’d filed into the lab after lunch. Bozer had put on his headphones and cranked the panpipes up not long after, though – he had not understood very much of the overly-enthusiastic, heavy-on-the-science conversation that flowed endlessly between the trio of geniuses, and being overly enthusiastic, it was on the loud side.)

(He hadn’t had the heart to mention that to them, though, and wouldn’t. His homeboy was speaking his language with people who could get it instantly, no translation required, and he was bonding with his dad, and Mac was just absolutely comfortable and at ease and at home and so _happy._ Thus, Bozer was happy, and could put up with a little noise.)

As he watched, Mac smirked and said something while scribbling on the board that made Beth laugh and shake her head and jab at the air in front of his chest. Jim snorted too, but swayed a little on his feet when he did so (he’d had chemo that morning), and instantly, Mac pulled out a chair for his dad, while Beth narrowed her eyes at the older man, who obediently sat down. The two young people then tugged the whiteboard closer to him, and Beth obligingly passed Jim a whiteboard marker, though not before she seemingly threatened him with its removal if he over-exerted himself. Jim just nodded obediently, and the three of them turned their attention back to their mad science.

Bozer just shook his head, a little wonderment in his expression.

The things people did for love.

He made a face as he realized that he seriously had to break the news to Mac, so that he wasn’t blindsided and all.

Mac didn’t do too well with being blindsided and sudden change in his life.

(Bozer didn’t blame him, given his mom had died quite suddenly of illness, his dad had upped and abandoned him then turned out to be secretly his boss’s boss, he’d had a girlfriend who’d faked her death then faked being evil, his original boss had turned out to be a baddie and his Obi-Wan Kenobi, the other half to the greatest bromance Bozer had even seen, had had to suddenly up and leave for months, only to be declared KIA, only for them to find him alive. Mac had had a lot of drama in his reasonably short life. So much so that Riley had once commented that if Mac’s life was one of Bozer’s movies, it’d be continually attacked for being unrealistically dramatic.)

Bozer still wasn’t sure what the best way to do it was. Riley and Leanna had informed him that tact wasn’t his strongest suit.

He’d have asked Leanna for advice, but she had gone dark on a mission to the Balkans the day after Halloween, and nearly a week later, wasn’t back yet.

He shrugged.

Riley wasn’t as awesome as his honeybun, of course, but she’d probably have a good idea or two.

Besides, he would also get to shock her with his Sherlock Holmes skills, and Bozer _did_ like to get one-up on his lil’ sister from another mister.

* * *

The next day, Bozer still hadn’t had a chance to talk to Riley without Mac (or Jack, because Jack was a loudmouth with even less tact, he was firmly convinced) being around. He spotted her about to get into the elevator to head to the war room for their mission briefing, and ran the last ten feet to get into the same elevator.

‘Hey, Riley, I need to talk to you about something really important…’

The hacker just raised an eyebrow at him.

‘That sounds serious.’

Bozer nodded.

‘It is.’

Riley looked concerned, but also a little confused, as if wondering why she hadn’t _noticed_ something serious yet.

‘It’s not about you and Leanna, is it? ‘Cause I’m friends with both of you, and-‘

Bozer shook his head.

‘No, no, me and my honeybun are doing fine. It’s…it’s something else, that could, uh, possibly, maybe be a little bad, but won’t be if you help me out? I think?’

Riley nodded slowly as the elevator doors opened and they walked towards the war room.

‘Right…’ She reached out to open the war room door. ‘Well, it’s gonna have to wait until after mission briefing, Boze, but I promise I’ll help you out with the serious thing that could possibly be bad.’

He grinned at her in a very Bozer way.

‘Thanks, Riley. Knew I could count on you!’

She smiled and shook her head as they stepped into the war room.

* * *

Matty looked at Bozer for one second like she knew what was going through his mind (she absolutely did; she was Matty the Hun!), then turned back to the big screen, and tapped her tablet.

A photo of a kind- and serene-looking woman in her thirties, wearing a pink floral headscarf and smiling at the camera, appeared.

‘Meet Kamala Khawaja.’ Matty tapped her tablet again, and a business card advertising Kamala Khawaja’s services as a psychologist appeared. ‘She’s a psychologist in Boise, Idaho, who specialises in helping veterans. This includes running a regular support group for vets at a local community centre-‘

Jack raised a hand half-heartedly, and interrupted Matty before their boss could even acknowledge said hand.

‘Okay, I’ll bite, why’re we interested? ‘Cause she sounds like a real stand-up lady, and the Phoenix’s already got a shrink, besides, we ain’t usually the ones who handle recruitment…’

Matty put her hands on her hips and shot Jack a _look._

‘Getting to that, Dalton!’ Matty tapped the screen again, and a mugshot appeared of a Caucasian man in his late twenties, with a military haircut contrasted with a slightly-scruffy beard. ‘One of her patients and support group members was just arrested by the FBI on domestic terrorism charges.’

Mac reached out and grabbed a paperclip, voicing what they were all thinking after a brief silence.

‘And the FBI is concerned that she radicalised him and may be working on other patients?’

It was more answer than question. Matty nodded.

‘You and Jack are going undercover to investigate.’ She gestured at the door. ‘Wheels up in thirty.’

* * *

**COMMUNITY CENTRE**

**BOISE**

**IDAHO**

* * *

Jack, in an old, but well-cared-for Camaro, pulled up at the community centre, pulled into the parking lot, carefully parked the car, and sat there in the driver’s seat for a moment, keys in hand.

He pulled out the wallet he’d been given, double-checked that everything was there.

Chip Tyler was a former Army Captain, a retired Delta who’d enlisted straight out of college from his hometown of Fort Worth, Texas. He’d been out for a year, and despite suffering lingering trauma from twenty years of active duty (the worst being a mission in Colombia that had gone very, very wrong and led to most of his team getting out), had refused to go to therapy.

Until now, when his new girlfriend (who was also an old one – they’d reconnected of late) and her daughter had finally convinced him he needed it.

Jack gave a wry little grin.

Never let it be said that Matty the Hun didn’t have a sense of humour.

The grin faded, and he fingered the dog-tags that were part of his Chip ‘costume’ (Jack was a details guy). They didn’t feel quite the same as his own had, somehow, but there was something very familiar about them, something imprinted deep in his memory.

He took a deep breath and tucked the wallet back into his pocket, the dog-tags back under his shirt, then got out of the car.

* * *

Mac parked the vintage motorcycle outside the community centre, taking off his helmet and tidying his hair back into place, mind running through his cover ID one last time.

After ten years of service, Staff Sergeant Andy Harris had mustered out. Andy had studied at Western Tech, but dropped out after his grandfather had had a stroke after his second year, needing to support the man who’d raised him, and inspired by him. He’d become an EOD tech, gaining some renown in the field. Unfortunately, he’d suffered quite a number of losses, especially in his earlier years, when he’d been barely more than a teenager. He’d been commended for his efforts on what was known colloquially in the field as The Day of the Thousand EODs, only to lose his training officer not even a month later. Then, just a few months ago, his long-term EOD partner had been KIA while the two of them tried to save a bunch of civilians being used as human shields. They’d succeeded, but it’d been cold comfort for Andy, and that last loss had caused him to decide to muster out.

_Let’s just say, I’m confident that I’m going to be very convincing as ‘Andy’._

_And near-eidetic memory or not, this is not a cover ID I’ll forget any of the details of._

Mac took a deep breath, and for once, didn’t completely box away, lock away, that pang that went through him at the thought of Al, of Charlie, of those nameless (but still mourned) Afghanis who’d died on that street on that terrible day. He set it aside enough so that he could focus, but still allowed himself to feel it, then walked into the community centre.

* * *

**PHOENIX VAN**

**CLOSE BUT NOT TOO CLOSE TO THE COMMUNITY CENTRE**

**BOISE**

**IDAHO**

* * *

Riley pursed her lips as she worked on digging deep into Kamala Khawaja’s online presence. So far, there was nothing in her social media or email accounts to suggest that she was using her position as a therapist to vulnerable vets to radicalise them into attacking the country they’d once fought for.

Sure, she was devoutly religious, but showed no signs of being radical, let alone violent. In fact, it seemed to be the opposite, with tolerance and peace being emphasized in her posts and photos.

Still, that could all be a façade. Riley started up one of her many custom algorithms, to sweep the web (both conventional and dark) for anything and everything on Kamala Khawaja that might be suspicious.

As it started running, she turned to Bozer, who had finished digging through the psychologist’s financials, finding nothing suspicious, and was now watching the live surveillance video of the community centre.

‘Alright, what did you want to talk to me about?’

Bozer paused for a moment. Riley was pretty sure he was pausing for effect.

(Bozer was a storyteller at heart, after all.)

Then, it all burst out of him.

‘Mac might be getting a stepmom, and I’ve got no idea how to break it to him, Riley!’

Riley stared at him for a long, long moment, utterly unbelieving and astounded, wondering if Bozer had lost his mind entirely, not for the first time.

(The notion of James MacGyver – a workaholic with serious emotional issues who had loved his wife so much that he’d completely lost it when she’d passed away and wound up abandoning their son – dating again, let alone starting a sufficiently serious and functional relationship to consider remarrying, was utterly absurd. Even if he’d been doing better and actually acting like a human and a father of late.)

She finally made her mouth work, and addressed an expectant and slightly-smug-looking Bozer.

‘ _Who_?’

‘Lil’ Doc!’

Bozer said that as if it was obvious. He also said it rather smugly, like he was mentally talking up Double-O-Boze as the next Sherlock Holmes.

Riley was now utterly convinced that Bozer really had lost his mind. She arched a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

‘She’s young enough to be his daughter, and I don’t think _creep_ is one of Mac’s dad’s faults…’

Bozer made a bit of a face at that thought, but retorted after a moment anyway, starting to check things off his fingers, like he had a mental list, which Riley was totally convinced he did.

‘They get lunch together! And he smiles at her! And…’

* * *

**COMMUNITY CENTRE**

**BOISE**

**IDAHO**

* * *

‘…I always thought it was gonna be me, you know?’ Steve, one of the support group’s members, aged in his late forties and a Marine vet, rubbed a hand through his still-military-short hair. He gave a bitter snort. ‘She was supposed to be safe. The kids were supposed to be safe…’ From the short explanation he’d given earlier, his wife had been badly injured in the Ohio State University terrorist attack nearly three years ago. ‘They were on a college tour, for God’s sake!’ His voice cracked with emotion first, then grew angry. He took several deep breaths and made a gesture of apology. ‘When I got that call…’ His voice cracked again, and he looked down for a beat, then back up at them all. ‘It messed me up more than anything in the Sandbox.’

There was a moment of silence, before Kamala spoke up, her voice gentle, looking at Steve directly.

‘Thank you for sharing, Steve.’ She glanced around the circle. ‘Does anyone have anything they’d like to say?’

Hesitantly, one of the youngest members of the group, an Army guy no older than Mac had been when he’d joined the DXS, raised a hand. Kamala smiled encouragingly at him, and he spoke, addressing Steve directly.

‘How do you deal with it, that anger?’

* * *

‘…for just a moment, I thought we were home free, you know?’ Jack (or perhaps more accurately, Chip) clasped his hands together, leaned on his knees, his voice full of memory, a little rough with emotion. (Then again, being Chip was very different from being, say, Bryce Villanova, even if Jack was a details guy who fleshed out all his covers.) ‘Truck was waiting, we were all still walking, and then…’ He paused, looking down at the ground and seeing that day in Colombia, seeing Thorpe take that bullet, seeing Worthy pounce on that grenade. He swore he could smell it, the sweat and fear and dust…Jack looked up, saw empathy and sympathy and _understanding_ in the eyes of the other vets, in Kamala’s, and continued. ‘And he just said, kept crying out, _I can’t feel my legs_ , and well, I couldn’t think much about it then, ‘cause we were still under fire, but…’

* * *

‘...and then he was gone, and all I could think was that it could’ve been me.’ The voice of the young man, the one who’d asked about anger earlier, broke, and he covered his eyes with a hand, his voice very soft, very quiet, very broken, confessional, when he continued. ‘It should’ve been me.’

* * *

‘…I was supposed to take that house, but our robot was broken, so he told me to fix it, and he went in…’ Mac swallowed, his voice cracking a little with grief, regret, guilt. ‘He never got to meet his daughter…’ He looked down again. ‘…and I didn’t even know her name until she was six.’ He had not dealt well with Pena’s death, or anything to do with The Ghost. He looked up, saw that easy understanding not just in Jack’s eyes, but also the eyes of everyone else. It helped a lot, actually, which made a lot of sense, given the popularity of support groups and the literature supporting their use. ‘Charlie helped me through a lot of the aftermath. For a long time, he was the only person I talked to about that day.’ Mac swallowed again, looking at that young man who reminded him so much of himself in those hard months after Pena, when Charlie and a mostly-unaware Jack had drawn him out of his grief and guilt. ‘If…if I could have, I’d have taken his place.’

* * *

During the support group’s snack break, Jack chewed on a cupcake half-heartedly.

(Not that it wasn’t delicious, but his mind was elsewhere, his right hand fiddling with his dog-tags.)

(Well, Chip Tyler’s dog-tags.)

He watched, still, gathering information just like his job was (he was an experienced top agent, after all), but _Colombia_ and dozens of other horrible days kept flashing through his mind.

Kamala quietly walked over to him, from where she’d been talking with a couple of the other vets, and smiled, soft and gentle and sympathetic, holding out a plate of cupcakes.

Jack automatically took another one, and the psychologist smiled wider.

‘I wanted to welcome you to the group, Chip. It’s great to have you join us.’

There was no sinister undertone to that, no double meaning that Jack could hear. It read as genuine to him, and he had great instincts.

(He wouldn’t have survived this long if he didn’t.)

He smiled at her, small and a little wryly.

‘Took my girls way too long to talk me into coming, Doc.’

Kamala just shrugged, as if that didn’t matter.

‘You’re here now.’

* * *

‘Would you like a cookie, Andy?’

Mac was pulled out of the swirling mass of thoughts in his mind (a catalogue of observations, interactions…Al, Charlie, Mason’s son and his unit…a quiet voice, broken and confessional, _it should have been me_ ) when Kamala came over to him, a gentle smile on her face, holding out a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

It took him a moment to react properly, and he gave a small smile, a touch sheepish.

‘I’m not going to say no.’

He reached out and took one, as Kamala held the plate out to Steve, who looked just as lost in his own head as Mac had felt. He, too, took a cookie and bit into it, and then, the therapist drew them into a conversation with one another, cajoling them out of their own heads.

She was really, really good at this, Mac noted, as he polished off the last of his cookie.

Not as good as Cage had been in terms of hacking into one’s brain, but very, very good nonetheless.

Which meant she was an excellent psychologist, of course.

Unfortunately, it also meant that she might be very, very good at secretly radicalising her patients.

Mac wiped the last of the chocolate residue off his fingers with his handkerchief, watching discreetly as Kamala talked quietly with some of the younger members of the group, even getting a little smile out of a man who’d seemed almost catatonic.

Still, his gut told him that it wasn’t so simple, that there were puzzle pieces he was missing, that they were all missing.

He just didn’t know _what._

* * *

**PHOENIX VAN**

**BOISE**

**IDAHO**

* * *

‘…she made him stay in medical that time he and Mac got tossed through a plate glass window!’

That’d been something to see. Beth had successfully wrangled the two MacGyvers into obediently letting her clean and butterfly-bandage their many, many cuts. Given the amount of glass and the number of cuts, it’d taken a very, very long time. Patience in the face of boredom was _not_ a MacGyver family trait.

Riley and Leanna had had to listen to Bozer go on and on, asking the universe where Beth had been all these years.

(To be fair to Bozer, he had spent most of his life attempting The Care and Feeding of Angus MacGyver, who had a questionable self-preservation instinct and really wasn’t the best at self-care.)

Riley arched an eyebrow at Bozer, still unconvinced.

‘Beth’s awesome, that doesn’t mean-‘

Bozer pointed at her, a quelling gesture, and looked very smug.

‘Who was right about Mac and Desi?’

It was clearly rhetorical. Riley’s eyebrow rose further, and she smirked.

‘Sparky.’ Bozer’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and she continued before he could protest. ‘Look, Boze, _if_ there’s something going on, it’s not really our business.’ Of course, it would become their business if Jim decided to be an ass about it and not communicate with his son, because Mac was family, and they were a team, and they always had his back. But for now, Riley got the fact that a parent might want a little privacy while working things out, especially when there was _history._ Her mom and Jack had needed that, after all. It’d been different with Mac and Desi, since _both_ of them were their friends, and they were all in the field together, so Bozer’s concerns had been reasonable enough to be raised. ‘And _if_ there’s something going on, let Mac’s dad talk to him first.’ Riley swallowed. ‘It’s…it’s important.’

Her dad kept her up to date with his life, nowadays. Talked about his new job, and even his sobriety. The fact that he did, made the effort to tell her personally, had done wonders for their relationship.

Bozer nodded in understanding, though Riley had the feeling that he was still a little worried that another big reveal might send Mac running off to live in a yurt in Mongolia or something.

(Seriously, why were the MacGyvers so dramatic?)

* * *

**COMMUNITY CENTRE**

**BOISE**

**IDAHO**

* * *

‘…brother, seriously?’

In the air vents, on his hands and knees, Jack hissed at a loud whisper at his partner as the blonde pressed a glass he’d borrowed from the kitchenette to the bottom of the air vent.

Mac shot him a pointed look, which looked a little ridiculous sideways with his ear to a glass.

Jack rolled his eyes and pressed his own glass to the air vent too.

* * *

Kamala and one of the vets, the young man who’d lost his best friend in combat and had asked Steve about anger and reminded Mac so much of himself in those hard months after Al, had left after group to presumably have a private conversation.

Naturally, Mac and Jack had decided that was fishy, so had decided to eavesdrop.

Mac’s brow furrowed in concentration was he listened in.

The young man’s voice was pained and bitter and full of anger.

‘…I was eighteen! I signed up to serve my country, ‘cause I thought it was the best thing I could do, and my country…my country sent me and my unit, my brothers, to die!’

Kamala’s voice was calm and measured, but full of sympathy.

‘Your anger is justified, Evan. Many people would be angry in your situation-‘

Mac and Jack exchanged a glance, wondering if this was where it all began, where she started manipulating the vulnerable men and women who depended on her for help, but whatever Kamala said next, they didn’t hear.

The sound was drowned out by an explosion. A very, very loud explosion.

Mac and Jack exchanged a glance, then started crawling rapidly back to the air vent opening in the men’s bathroom.

* * *

The lobby was full of debris and smoke, the front door’s glass completely blown out and the door itself falling off its hinges. Mac and Jack gestured for the people inside the building to get back, and stepped through the door itself, to find more destruction.

A car had exploded. There was a smoking hole in the asphalt of the parking lot where it had been, and debris strewn all around, some of it on fire.

Mac’s brain whirred as he took in the scene in an instant. There were three people with singed clothing who must have been on the edge of the blast zone; judging by the scrapes on their hands, forearms, knees and faces, they’d been thrown forward by the blast. All were conscious and sitting up, aided by bystanders. There was a family who were trapped in a car, as a large chunk of debris had landed on the roof, denting it so badly that the doors wouldn’t open. The gas tank exploding was a concern, but Mac knew that the most immediate concern was a man who was moaning in pain, barely conscious, his legs trapped beneath a hunk of smouldering bumper.

Jack immediately moved towards the man, intending to lift up the bumper, and Mac called out to him.

‘It’s at hundreds of degrees, and you won’t be able to lift it!’ He looked around urgently, brain going at a million miles a minute, and saw the skip at the neighbouring construction site. Mac jumped the fence and grabbed a large piece of metal piping, passing it back over to Jack, who had followed him without hesitation, knowing his partner had an Idea. ‘You’ll need a mechanical advantage, use it as a lever, be careful ‘cause it’s going to get hot pretty quickly.’

Jack nodded, and Mac helped him position the pipe under the bumper at the perfect angle that’d give him the best leverage. The brunette pulled off his jacket and wrapped his hands in it to protect himself from the heat, then started lifting as Mac crouched down beside the trapped man, checking his pulse at his carotid artery with one hand, pulling out his belt with the other to make into a tourniquet.

Jack had just laid a hand on the pipe when Riley and Bozer pulled up in the Phoenix van, tires screeching, and the duo jumped out.

‘Bro-‘

‘How can we help?’

Mac didn’t look up from where he was monitoring the trapped man, now unconscious, his right hand still working frantically to re-shape his belt, but addressed the two of them anyway.

‘Boze, give me your belt. Ri, there’s a family trapped in that car, grab a crowbar from the construction site and get them out before the gas tank blows!’

Bozer tugged out his belt and crouched down by his best friend to help, calling on all his first aid training (he’d taken the advanced course recently), as Jack finished levering the bumper off, using the pipe to shift it out of the way, then hurried over to help Riley free the trapped family, the hacker having climbed the fence for the crowbar.

* * *

Later, Mac cleaned the last of the blood off his hands as a couple of ambulances left the scene, lights and sirens going.

He glanced at Jack, Bozer and Riley, who were all catching their breaths alongside him.

He turned around, saw the shaken knitting group that’d been sharing the community centre, the in-shock bystanders, the looks in the eyes of the other vets from the support group, one that he’d seen in the mirror many, many times.

_Violence randomly inflicted on civilians, that’s something you never get used to._

_And I have seen far too much of it._

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…I would never, ever violate my patients’ trust that way!’ In the interrogation room, opposite Matty (very much the Hun at that moment), Kamala vehemently denied the allegations Matty had presented to her. She paused and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, gather her thoughts. ‘My religion is a peaceful one. Some people…too many…who claim it have forgotten that, unfortunately.’ Her expression grew vehement and almost desperate again, and she looked Matty directly in the eye. ‘But I am not one of them.’

* * *

One the other side of the glass, Jack and Mac exchanged a glance, Jack raising a shoulder.

‘I believe her, brother.’

Mac nodded in agreement, fingers shaping a paperclip into a crescent.

‘Me too.’

Riley and Bozer looked up from her laptop, where they’d been running an analysis program on the psychologist’s body language and micro-expressions.

‘So does the program.’

They watched as Matty got up from her chair and walked out of the room, exchanging a glance again, and Jack vocalised what they all saw.

‘And so does Matty the Hun.’

* * *

‘…yeah, I’m angry, and yeah, I’m bitter. I got a right to feel that way, ‘cause my country sent me and my unit to die, and half of us were just kids.’ Evan crossed his arms as he faced Matty in interrogation, that anger and bitterness clear in his voice. ‘But why would I blow up my car outside my support group, and risk hurting the people who get it, the people who’ve been helping me, people who _get_ the sacrifice we made, ‘cause they made the same one?’

Matty looked unconvinced.

‘Maybe the community centre wasn’t your target, but your bomb detonated early.’

Evan snorted cynically.

‘And if you’ve got decent forensics or an EOD around, which I’m betting a fancy-schmancy government agency like this does, you’ll know that isn’t true, and my prints aren’t on that IED.’ Evan was right. Mac and the Phoenix’s forensic techs had concluded that it was a deliberate detonation, and hadn’t found a trace of Evan’s prints on the bomb components. He leaned forward and locked eyes with Matty. ‘Look, lady, you’re not getting a false confession out of me. I didn’t do it, and I wouldn’t do it.’

Matty stared at him for a long moment, then got up and left the room.

* * *

On the other side of the glass, Mac and Jack exchanged a look, then glanced at Riley and Bozer in front of her laptop, who shook their heads.

Mac sighed, a paperclip emerging from his pocket. Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

They and Matty (and Riley’s program) all believed Evan.

They were back to square one.

* * *

‘…okay, so the first thing we gotta do is establish the facts, right?’

Matty, Riley and Mac exchanged a glance as Bozer spoke, pacing around the war room. Mac gave a little nod in response to the silent question on the women’s faces.

(Bozer had been on a bit of a detective movie kick lately.)

Still, it was a logical thing to do.

‘One of Kamala’s support group’s members intended to commit act of domestic terrorism, but was caught before he could execute it.’

‘She was the first and major suspect, because she had means and opportunity and law enforcement thought she might have motive.’

The Phoenix was no longer convinced that was the case.

‘Evan’s car blew up outside the support group, and the first thing we all thought was that Kamala had manipulated him into doing it.’

They didn’t think that anymore either.

The paperclip in Mac’s hands took the shape of a picture frame, as they all looked around at one another, the same realization passing across their faces.

Mac dropped the re-shaped paperclip onto the coffee table, and said what they were all thinking.

‘Someone’s trying to frame her.’

* * *

‘…no, you’ve got it all wrong, I wouldn’t…I couldn’t…’ Steve, the vet whose wife had been badly hurt at Ohio State while he’d been deployed, shook his head repeatedly. He fell silent and swallowed, looking away, like he was a little ashamed, before speaking again. ‘Look, I’m not going to lie, when I walked into group that first day and saw Kamala, I almost walked back out again.’ He shook his head at himself a little, then looked back up at Matty. ‘But I’m man enough to admit that I was wrong about her.’ He spread his hands wide. ‘She’s helped me a lot, and she’s helped a lot of vets. I’ve seen it.’ His expression grew vehement, insistent. ‘So I would never frame her. You’re barking up the wrong tree.’

* * *

As Matty got up and left the room, Mac and Jack exchanged another glance on the other side of the glass.

Matty believed Steve too. So did they.

When Matty walked into the room, the first thing she did was glance at Riley and Bozer, who were digging through the entire support group, trying to work out who might want to frame Kamala.

‘Anything?’

Riley shook her head, and spoke for the two of them.

‘Everyone’s clean. We’ve got no suspects.’

Matty sighed internally, but gave a perfunctory nod.

‘Then we expand the search.’

* * *

Mac stood in front of a whiteboard, quickly searching out a name under the ‘family’ column and crossing it out.

They were going through every single person in Kamala’s social circle (the categories on the board were ‘family’, ‘friends’, ‘colleagues’, ‘neighbours’ and ‘community centre users’), digging deep to try and work out who might want to frame her.

So far, more than half the names were crossed out and they hadn’t found a suspect yet.

Bozer made a noise of frustration and called out another name. Mac crossed it out. Jack tossed a file he’d been reading at Mac, grumbling under his breath, earning himself a _look_ from their boss, who then looked back at her tablet and shook her head, turning it to show Mac a name. He crossed out another two names, one in the ‘neighbour’ category, and one in the ‘community centre users’ category.

Suddenly, Riley looked up from her laptop, then jumped up and held out her hand to Mac for the whiteboard marker, which he immediately handed over.

‘I think I’ve got something.’

She reached up and circled a name in the ‘colleagues’ category.

Emily Lewis. One of Kamala’s colleagues at the psychology practice she worked for.

The two psychologists had had a major falling-out about a year ago, apparently.

Matty immediately turned to Jack, who before she even spoke, gave a quick salute.

‘Bringing her in, boss.’ He pointed at Riley. ‘Riles?’

‘She should be at work, texting you the address now…’

* * *

**SEVERAL HOURS AND ONE SHOCKING REVELATION LATER**

* * *

Mac, Jack, Bozer and Riley stood in the observation room, watching Emily Lewis’s face as she finally, finally broke and confessed to Matty.

Bozer shook his head sadly.

‘I can’t believe she did all that just because…just because she and Kamala had a big fight!’

Emily Lewis seemed to have taken her and Kamala’s falling out _far_ worse, because she’d used her position as the main mental health care professional for several members of Kamala’s support group, and a major source of referrals to said support group, to frame her colleague.

Jack nodded, expression grim. He gestured with his head to the now-sobbing woman.

‘Reckon she’s snapped or something, Boze.’

Riley sighed, and raised a shoulder.

‘At least she didn’t get away with it.’

There was something heavy, sad, in her voice. The innocents who could have been killed and injured in that (thankfully averted) act of terrorism by a vulnerable man who’d been manipulated by someone he thought he could trust, someone he thought he could depend on. The passers-by injured when that car had exploded. Kamala, Evan, Steve, who’d been subjected to immense scrutiny and a full interrogation by Matty the Hun, despite being completely innocent.

There’d been a hell of a lot of damage inflicted by this one woman, for selfish, petty, unbelievable reasons.

Mac pulled another paperclip from his pocket and started re-shaping it.

* * *

_Unfortunately, I never cease to be surprised at how terrible people can be to each other._

_It’s a hazard of always thinking the best of people, I guess._

* * *

**COMMUNITY CENTRE**

**BOISE**

**IDAHO**

* * *

Kamala parked her car, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, gathered her courage, and walked through the side-door of the community centre, to the room her support group used.

She opened the door, and smiled and had to blink back tears at the same time, because inside, every one of her patients was waiting for her. Several held out plates of baked goods, and she smiled wider and laughed as Evan sheepishly held out a plate of misshapen cupcakes, taking one and taking a bite despite their unappetising appearance.

* * *

_But at the same time, I’m still, somehow, surprised by the sheer goodness of so many people._

_And that always outweighs the bad._

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

Bozer and Riley were in the kitchen, preparing some ribs to go on the barbecue, along with all the required sides, the former talking the latter’s ear off, as usual, in his very loud stage-whisper.

(Mac and Jack’s bickering about what they should eat for dinner after the BBQ-gone-really-wrong mission had led to a compromise. No barbecue that night, but barbecue within the next week.)

‘…I know, I know, let Mac’s dad tell him himself, but he’s, you know, Mac’s dad, so we gotta have a back-up plan, or, you know…so help me out, homegirl, how’re we gonna tell him?’

‘Tell me what?’

Bozer’s eyes widened as Mac walked back into the house from the garage, a smudge of grease on his cheek, several more smudges on his pants.

‘…um…ah…well, bro…’

Riley face-palmed internally, and shot Bozer a _look_ when he looked at her pleadingly, before sighing and channelling Desi and going for blunt.

‘ _Bozer_ is convinced that your dad and Beth have _something_ going on.’

Mac’s eyes went very wide. He apparently hadn’t considered this possibility at all (or, knowing him and his brain, it’d probably come up as a stray thought at some point, but he hadn’t really _considered_ it).

He was also clearly disturbed by that notion.

Mac’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out.

Bozer started talking a mile a minute, trying to make things better, but probably making them worse.

‘…it doesn’t mean that he didn’t love your mom, of course it doesn’t, bro, you know how cut up he was by her passing, I mean, he did ditch you for, like, eighteen years…and okay, yeah, she’s your age, but everyone’s an adult, so it’s okay, right? I mean, it’s weird and a little creepy, but…’

Mac still looked horrified and seemed to be stuck in what Jack and Bozer had occasionally dubbed ‘buffering’ mode.

Riley rolled her eyes and resisted the very strong urge to face-palm, turned the heat off on the mac’n’cheese, and stepped on Bozer’s foot to make him shut up, before handing Mac a ladle and a serving bowl and pointing at the cheesy pasta, hoping that keeping his hands busy might break the loop in his brain.

She shook her head again as Bozer finally shut up and Mac robotically scooped up mac’n’cheese.

Men.

(She really hoped Leanna and Desi got home soon. She also made a mental note to invite Beth and Leanna, once she got home from the Balkans, to hers for a girls’ night ASAP.)

(Testosterone poisoning. _Ugh_.)

* * *

‘…okay, what did you do to our boy, Boze?’

Jack walked out onto the deck, took one look at the still-silent, still-vaguely-horrified-looking Mac sitting by the fire-pit, staring into the middle distance, and turned to Bozer, who spluttered and raised his hands, a _who, me?_ look on his face.

‘Hey, why’re you blaming me?’

Riley raised an eyebrow.

‘Because it’s your fault?’

Jack jerked his thumb at Riley in a gesture of agreement.

‘What she said, brother.’

Bozer’s expression slowly, comically, changed from being innocent to put-out to sheepish, and he opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the four of them heard a familiar, very dry voice behind them.

‘Matilda told me I had to urgently clarify something.’ They all turned their heads to look at Jim, who stepped out onto the deck. He had an expression on his face that was reminiscent of Mac’s astounded, horrified look; milder, less clear, but the resemblance was strong. ‘I am not romantically interested in, nor will I ever be romantically interested in, one of my _subordinates_ who is young enough to be my _daughter._ ’

Mac looked very, very relieved. He muttered something that sounded an awful lot like _oh, thank God,_ the first thing any of them had heard him say for fifteen minutes.

Jack couldn’t help but laugh and clap his partner on the back.

‘Welcome back, brother.’

Meanwhile, Jim turned to Bozer.

‘Wilt, we need to talk.’

Bozer gulped.

* * *

_Don’t worry, Boze remains gainfully employed._

_He’s just not likely to speculate about my dad’s love life anytime soon._

_Thankfully._

_Look, it’s not that I don’t want my dad to be happy, and if that includes falling in love again, I’m all for it._

_It’s just there’s some things you don’t want to know about your parents._

_Trust me, you don’t want to hear about the time Riley and I had to transfer all of Jack’s contacts, texts, and so on and so forth onto his new phone._

_She’s still on me about brain bleach, and I don’t blame her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short, but hope you guys enjoyed that! 
> 
> There’s an episode tag for this ep, which will post on Tuesday in _Moments So Dear_. Here’s the summary:
> 
> In Memoriam, tag to 4.07, Real/Fake. The Phoenix family attends an annual charity fundraiser for veterans, in memory of Alfred Pena and Charlie Robinson.
> 
> And here’s the summary for the next ep:
> 
> 4.08, My Enemy/My Friend. Murdoc and Helman team up and escape their prison, leading Mac on a wild goose chase. But can their common enemy and common goal keep this alliance together?
> 
> See you in two weeks!


	8. My Enemy/My Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc and Helman team up and escape their prison, leading Mac on a wild goose chase. But can their common enemy and common goal keep this alliance together?

**THE LAB**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

**(HEY, THEY DO HAVE TO KEEP UP THEIR COVER)**

**(AND EVEN THE SPY GAME HAS SLOW DAYS)**

* * *

‘Boze, can you pass me the bronze screws?’ The screws did not materialize in Mac’s outstretched hand, so he looked up from where he was bent over Sparky, modifying the robot’s hands, and saw that his best friend was on the other side of the lab, not on the other side of the table Sparky was lying on like he’d thought. (Mac had gotten a little lost in the Idea he had for improving Sparky’s fine motor control.) Bozer was standing very close to Leanna, whispering something in her ear, making her laugh. The blonde smiled and shook his head (they’d been separated by work for over two weeks, so he didn’t begrudge them at all), and turned back to grab the screws himself, but before he could walk around the bench, Beth finished scrubbing her hands with alcohol and picked up the screws and walked over to him and Sparky, dropping the screws in his hand. ‘Thanks, Beth.’

(She’d been demonstrating proper suturing technique so Riley could work out a way to upgrade Sparky’s code so he could suture wounds. Of course, software could only be run on suitable hardware, so Mac had to upgrade Sparky’s fine motor control, too.)

The young woman just smiled back at him, and leaned forward to get a better look at what he was doing, a look of curiosity and fascination on her face that made her look younger than usual, somehow. 

‘How is it going?’

Mac got to work with the screws, replying without looking up at her.

‘Almost done, I think anyway, I’ve just got a couple wires to…’

He trailed off, losing himself in what he was doing again, and Beth’s smile widened a little as she shook her head affectionately, contenting herself with observing.

Meanwhile, Sparky turned his head to look at the doctor and spoke, somehow managing to sound long-suffering and grumpy.

‘Is MacGyver about to fry my circuits again?’

Mac shot the AI a _look._

(It was only _once._ It’d only been _some_ of his circuits. Sparky had been mostly fine. He was a _robot_ and couldn’t feel any pain anyway. Heck, Mac had even apologized. _Twice._ And oiled all of Sparky’s joints.)

(Clearly, Sparky was never going to let him forget it.)

(He’d picked up a few things from Jack on their road trip.)

Beth laughed and patted Sparky’s arm gently.

‘I’m sure Mac is taking extra care to avoid frying your circuits this time, Sparky.’

It was the exact same tone she used so often in the infirmary; her calm, reassuring, rational doctor’s voice.

Sparky huffed, and turned his head to face Mac, somehow managing to shoot him a pointed look, despite having a face incapable of movement.

Mac shook his head and rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, and continued working on the hand modifications…while taking extra care to not fry Sparky’s circuits.

The robot made another long-suffering noise.

‘I suppose suffering through this will reduce my likelihood of being replaced by that interloper…’

Beth raised her eyebrows in question, and Mac smiled wryly.

‘Dalton’s Nightmare.’

She’d heard all about the vehicle and its cutting-edge less-lethal technologies, as well as the Kormann Challenge Incident, and B.R.U.N.O. and Allie.

She nodded in understanding, then her brow furrowed again as she looked down at Sparky.

‘Sparky, your skill-sets didn’t overlap in the slightest; why were you so worried about being replaced?’ She paused again, and glanced up at Mac, her expression turning wry. ‘Also, Dalton’s Nightmare was blown to pieces, so…’

It was all moot anyway.

Sparky just huffed again.

‘The replacement always begins slowly, and they always reassure you that you are not being usurped…’

He sounded just like Jack.

Over Sparky’s body, Mac, Beth and Riley all shared a glance.

The hacker raised a shoulder.

‘Don’t look at me; I have no idea where in his code that comes from…’

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Mac and Beth headed for the breakroom, having volunteered to do the coffee run.

(Riley was neck-deep in code and muttering to herself, with that laser-sharp focus that she’d had when she’d been trying to track down the doxxer who’d turned out to be Mason. Bozer and Leanna were still really distracted with one another, Bozer showing off some of his latest additions to the Phoenix’s wardrobe collection, and none of them had the heart to interrupt that.)

‘…if we can do this, Sparky’s going to be able to save so many lives, help so many people we can’t.’

Mac nodded in agreement.

‘Assist in hospitals, care for the elderly and the disabled in their own homes, assist with search-and-rescue and triage after earthquakes, tornados, hurricanes, tsunamis…’

Puerto Rico could definitely have done with an army of Sparkies (or, rather, what he’d be – Mac was  _very_ determined to make their plans a reality) after Maria.

(And probably still could. He’d talk to Matty and his dad about it when they succeeded; Mac reckoned that he might be able to convince Jack that Carlos could be trusted to keep the AIs in line – he’d been a Green Beret, after all.)

Mac looked down and over at Beth as he trailed off, and found that there was a look in her eyes that he instantly recognized.

It was the look he’d seen in the eyes of medical staff and aid workers all through Afghanistan and Iraq, and it was a look that he was  _never, ever_ going to forget.

It was a look that he thought he could, fundamentally, understand.

It wasn’t all too dissimilar from the look he’d seen in the eyes of quite a few of his fellow soldiers, had seen in Jack’s eyes and Pena’s eyes and Charlie’s and in the mirror.

‘After airstrikes, when you’re anticipating the double-tap, knowing that there are people out there who need your help, but not being able to go help them… _he could.’_

She fell silent, lost in a memory, the haunting sort of memory that one could  _never, ever_  forget. Even if, sometimes, one really, really wanted to. Mac shot her a sympathetic look (or, perhaps more accurately, an empathetic look), which earned him a small, grateful smile in response. He’d just opened his mouth to say something when his phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, seeing a text from his dad.

**War room. Stat, Angus.**

‘Duty calls?’ There was a wry little smile on her face. Mac nodded, and Beth gestured to the breakroom door with her head. ‘I can handle the coffee run.’

Mac was already walking off (backwards), when his phone buzzed again.

**Tell Beth to get extra coffee for Riley, Bozer and Leanna.**

Mac glanced at the nearest security camera, exasperated and a tiny bit frustrated (his dad _had_ been watching and influencing his life for years without him knowing, and apparently old habits died hard), then called out to Beth.

‘Dad says you’d better get extra for Riley, Bozer and Leanna.’

She glanced at the camera too, then shook her head, exasperated and fond and long-suffering, and nodded.

‘Will do.’

* * *

When Mac walked into the war room, he was greeted by Jack, Matty and Oversight (unmistakeably Oversight, and not James MacGyver).

They all had grim, serious expressions on their faces.

And there was a satellite image of their black site on the war room’s big screen.

Mac had a very, very bad feeling about this.

He grabbed a paperclip, knowing that he’d need it, and wordlessly, Matty tapped her tablet so that the video on the big screen began to roll.

* * *

The video started as a feed from one of the many, many security cameras that overlooked the corridor between Murdoc and Helman’s cells, coupled with state-of-the-art microphones, to keep track of any potential conspiring.

Helman was sitting on his cot, while Murdoc lay down on his, his hands folded behind his head.

And then, Helman started to sing.

‘…Home, home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play. Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word…’

Murdoc began to whistle that same tune, and in that instant, Mac knew exactly what was going to happen next.

The guards, suspicious, as they should be, responded with SOP, one heading towards the door to initiate a lockdown or call for back-up as necessary, the other two each heading for the cell door of the two prisoners to guard against a potential escape.

Unfortunately, Murdoc and Helman seemed to have planned exactly for that.

Helman reached out and wrapped a long thread, in bright orange and clearly pulled painstakingly from his prison jumpsuit, around the neck of a guard, tightening it enough to draw blood and strangle the man.

Murdoc pulled out a painstakingly-sharpened flimsy bamboo toothbrush, the kind you weren’t supposed to be able to sharpen, and stabbed the woman who’d gone to his cell in the carotid artery.

Both grinned with identical, savage satisfaction as the third guard pressed the button for back-up and lockdown, only to be shot seconds later by two bullets fired at the same time from his deceased co-workers’ guns.

Murdoc and Helman grabbed the key-cards belonging to the two dead guards and with some wriggling, swiped them over the pads next to their cells.

There was a beeping noise, and the cell doors opened.

Mac realized that the two assassins had timed their shots perfectly, so that the third guard’s body slumped against the security panel by the door with his key-card perfectly aligned with the third pad. To open a cell door, a simultaneous swipe of the central pad along with the individual cell ones was required.

Murdoc and Helman had been planning this for a long, long time.

They left their cells, a horrible, terrible grin on Murdoc’s face, a more reserved but no less horrifying savage little smile on Helman’s.

The footage skipped forward, changing to the black site’s control room, full of bloodied corpses, and the sight of one of the guards, deathly pale, uniform stained with blood, saturated to the degree that Mac knew her wounds were fatal, reaching for the phone, raising it and pressing in a pre-programmed code. She barely managed to get the last digit in before she collapsed, deathly still.

Footage from the checkpoint at the gate followed, showing Murdoc leaning forward, out of a black SUV.

He stared straight at the camera, like he was looking right at Mac, and grinned in that disturbing way of his.

‘Thanks to you, I found myself with a _lot_ of spare time on my hands, so I had to find _some_ way to keep myself amused…’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I was just sitting there, thinking, and then it hit me…why don’t I learn magic tricks?’ He rolled his eyes again. ‘Of course, my request for a deck of cards or a fluffy white rabbit was denied, so I had to…what is it you like to say? Improvise.’ Murdoc did jazz hands. ‘So, ta da, MacGyver, here’s my disappearing act!’

The footage cut out suddenly, violently, as Murdoc shot the camera.

* * *

Mac clenched his fists and cursed as the video ended, anger and painful, gnawing, soul-crushing guilt surging through him.

All of those agents who worked at the black site…

Everything with Murdoc always boiled down to him, the assassin’s obsession with him.

Murdoc was the Joker to his Batman, as Bozer and Jack firmly agreed.

And so, _that_ voice in his head kept whispering that those agents were all dead because of him…and Mac couldn’t argue with it.

Jack, standing beside him, reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed gently, and sought out Mac’s eyes, something in the set of his jaw, in his eyes, that said, _it ain’t your fault, son,_ just as clearly as if Jack had said the words himself.

Matty, her face set in a grim, angry line, spoke.

‘They successfully countered all of my security upgrades.’

Oversight crossed his arms.

‘Mine too.’ He locked eyes with his son for a beat. ‘Recapture them before they can do too much damage, Angus.’

Mac just nodded, tossing a paperclip down on the coffee table, shaped like the Batsignal.

* * *

**THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE**

**SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA**

* * *

‘…no, no…’

As they pulled over on the side of the road on-route to the black site, Mac practically leapt out of the car before Jack had stopped it, sprinting over to the SUV dumped on the side of the road, tire-tracks in the vicinity suggesting it had rammed into another vehicle, large, probably a campervan, forcing it off the road.

Jack turned the key in the ignition to shut off the engine, took a single deep breath, then followed.

His partner was kneeling between the SUV and the woods, uncaring of the mud getting on his boots and his chinos, next to the bodies of two college-aged kids, no more than a boy and a girl in Jack’s eyes. The two of them were wearing hiking gear, and had been shot execution-style.

They were still holding hands.

Mac swallowed, rubbing a hand over his face, and seemed to force himself to look away from the young couple, glancing up at Jack.

Jack saw burning anger and deep regret and bone-crushing guilt in those blue eyes.

Like he had so many times.

(Bozer had told him once or twice that Harry Jackson used to say that the only thing bigger than Mac’s brain was his heart, and Jack was definitely in agreement with the man.)

When the younger man spoke, finally, after glancing at the bodies again, his voice was quiet and had something _broken_ in it, like it had cracked with the weight of the world.

‘I should’ve killed him when I had the chance, shouldn’t I?’

He’d had so many chances.

The day he’d captured Murdoc for the first time.

That time when he’d had his hands around Murdoc’s neck in his first prison.

Sometime during that search for Cassian.

(He had threatened, after all. And meant it, wholeheartedly, absolutely.)

Or, heck, he could have just left Murdoc to Helman, to what some would call karma...

He’d killed before. Of course he had. He’d been a soldier. Now he was a covert operative of the US government.

Mac went to great lengths, however, to avoid killing whenever he could. Went to great pains, often literally.

But he had never, ever killed in cold blood.

Not even someone as evil as Murdoc, because that crossed a red line, crossed the Rubicon.

And he was terrified of what was on the other side, terrified of who he’d be on the other side.

(He knew full well, now, that he was perfectly capable of that darkness, perfectly capable of crossing that line and becoming that, changing in a way that he knew wasn’t for the better.)

(He’d felt that blinding rage when he’d had Murdoc’s throat in his hands that terrible day orchestrated by The Organization, he’d felt it again when the assassin took Nasha, shown him that video of her sobbing and terrified, he’d felt it when Charlie fell to his death and then he’d seen Mason’s smug, smug face…)

(That rage terrified him.)

But on the other hand…if he had killed Murdoc, if he had crossed that line, even if he became someone he didn’t want to see in the mirror on the other side of that…how many lives could he have saved? How much suffering would have been averted?

(Had he just been selfish?)

Jack crouched down by his partner, ignoring the slight creaking of his knees, and waited for Mac to look up at him.

‘But it ain’t you, son.’ Jack smiled, a little small, but easy and fond all the same. ‘You’re a lot of things, brother. Genius, mad scientist, mechanic, engineer, chemist, physicist…’ Jack’s expression grew very serious again. ‘But you ain’t a killer, son. Even our least-favourite psycho knows that.’

Murdoc had gone to Mac to help him save Cassian, after all, trusting that, knowing that, Mac _would_ help him, _would_ do just about anything to save an innocent ten-year-old boy, and _wouldn’t_ leave Cassian an orphan.

The blonde stared at Jack for a long, long moment, glanced back at the campers for an equally long moment, then gave a little sigh and a small nod, getting up so they could keep following the trail.

Mac still looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his still-too-skinny-in-Jack’s-opinion shoulders, but at least he didn’t seem to be drowning completely in guilt anymore.

He was treading water and managing to keep carrying that burden.

Jack couldn’t really carry the world for Mac (he wouldn’t let him, after all, and honestly, only the MacGyvers could do what they could do), but he could be there, and help.

He could even, what was it that the lighter-haired, fatter hobbit said to Fred or Frodo or whatever his name was when they were climbing that Mountain of Doom?

I might not be able to carry the ring for you, Mr Freddo, but I can carry you?

That sentiment.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Riley, Bozer and Leanna looked up briefly from their laptops, where they were frantically and intensely trying to track down Murdoc and Helman, when Beth came into the war room, her arms full of coffee in Thermoses, a plate of sandwiches (chicken and salad, and PB&Js) and a few bags of trail mix.

She set them down on the coffee table, and the four young people shared a glance for a moment, all four of them gravely concerned.

For the innocents who might cross Murdoc and Helman’s path and pay far too dearly for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And for Mac.

(Beth might never have seen the _obsession_ Mac had with Murdoc – or vice-versa – first-hand, but she knew MacGyvers, and she knew their _duty_ and _obsession_ and _guilt_ and _anger._ )

(She’d experienced it first-hand, on what must have been the worst day of her life.)

(And Mac and Jim were very different in a very important way – one accepted bad over worse, the other insisted on changing the rules – but they were very, very alike in many other ways.)

Bozer sighed, full of worry, and wordlessly, Leanna reached out and placed her hand over his for a beat. Beth gave a little smile, raising a shoulder a touch awkwardly.

‘Let me know if you need any more of this…’ She gestured at the food and drink she’d placed on the table. ‘…or if there’s anything else I can do.’

Riley caught her eye and nodded.

‘Thanks, Beth.’

(Bozer was a little distracted, all but anticipating the nights when clanking noises and small explosions broke the quiet, the mornings when he found his homeboy slumped fast asleep over a workbench in the garage or the kitchen counter or the coffee table, surrounded by destroyed appliances and covered in grease, or, even worse, the mornings when he found him red- and wild-eyed, hair standing on end, still frantically building something or the other or pacing around like he felt he couldn’t stop. As such, Leanna was distracted too.)

The doctor nodded back, her concern obvious as her eyes lingered on Bozer for a moment, before ducking out of the room, and Riley got back to the chase. A beat later, Leanna gave Bozer’s hand a last little pat, and the two of them scooted a little ways apart, before getting back to work.

* * *

‘…I’ve got something.’ Riley, Bozer and Leanna had been carefully tracking Murdoc and Helman’s stolen campervan. The two assassins were very good at avoiding cameras and avoiding been seen, aided by the fact that they were travelling through rural areas, but it was simply impossible for them to evade every possible camera or satellite. When Riley spoke, Bozer automatically pulled out his phone and dialled Mac, holding the phone out to Riley. ‘Mac, Jack, Murdoc and Helman passed through Panamint Springs forty-five minutes ago.’ Her fingers flew across the keyboard. ‘They stopped at the local diner, I’m sending you the coordinates now…’

* * *

**GREASY SPOON DINER**

**(WITH REALLY, REALLY GREASY SPOONS)**

**PANAMINT SPRINGS**

**CALIFORNIA**

* * *

Murdoc and Helman sat in a booth opposite one another in the diner, a booth with a perfect view of all the entrances and exits.

The diner’s sole waitress, a middle-aged woman who was far too cheery, walked up to them and grinned, pulling out her notepad.

‘What can I get y’all?’ She grinned wider, glancing between the two of them. ‘Perfect weather for a father-son camping trip, you’ve picked a great day, gentlemen!’

(She’d noticed the campervan, of course. They got a fair few travellers passing through this diner, but not many silver foxes like the older gentleman, and she was only human, after all.)

Helman smiled charmingly back at the waitress.

‘We definitely did, darlin’.’ He glanced at the menu thoughtfully, then back at her. ‘I’ll get the steak and eggs, and so will Dennis.’

As the waitress walked away, grinning even wider, Murdoc shot Helman a murderous _look._

The older assassin just smirked.

Murdoc leaned forward and spoke in a furious but very soft whisper.

‘Can’t we just kill her? One little murder never hurt anyone…except of course the victim.’

They weren’t bothering to be too discreet at this stage; they knew they had a good lead on MacGyver, and they _did_ need him to chase them…not _catch_ them, of course, but chase them.

Helman arched an eyebrow at Murdoc.

‘Forgetting lesson number one already, Dennis? I taught you better than that.’

Murdoc huffed and rolled his eyes, every bit a petulant teenager.

(A murderous, psychopathic petulant teenager, anyway.)

‘No unnecessary killing. It’ll call too much attention to you, blah, blah, blah, get you captured...and it gets less fun after a while.’ Murdoc tilted his head to the side, pretending to ponder. ‘You know, that hasn’t happened yet.’

The waitress brought over their plates of food and they fell back into their friendly, father-and-son-on-a-camping-trip personas (Murdoc far more reluctantly, Helman with a hint of a satisfied smirk), exchanging small talk with her and eating their meals.

When the time came to pay their bill, Helman just arched an eyebrow at Murdoc, who rolled his eyes and pulled some cash from his pocket.

As they walked out of the diner, Murdoc huffed, once again a petulant teen psychopath.

‘Don’t miss anything still, do you, old man?’

Helman must have noticed him pocketing an extra share of the cash they’d taken from those whimpering college kids.

Helman looked at him in a way that made Murdoc really, really want to wipe that look off his face by punching him…and putting a bullet between his eyes, but he reined in that murderous impulse.

(For now. He needed Helman.)

‘And don’t think I’d forgotten about that time in Lisbon.’

Murdoc rolled his eyes as Helman strode on ahead towards the campervan.

‘I _told_ MacGyver that, and of course he didn’t believe me…’

* * *

**1.5 HOURS LATER**

* * *

Mac and Jack drove away from the diner, having confirmed that Murdoc and Helman had indeed passed through, even stopping by and having a meal.

Mac glanced at his partner.

‘They’re at least an hour and a half ahead of us.’  He fell silent for just a beat, and there was something harder, grimmer, angrier in his voice when he continued, which concerned Jack. Mac didn’t get truly angry very often. As far as Jack knew, only four individuals in the world could ever get Mac truly mad: The Ghost, Mason, Murdoc…and his dad. ‘And they know it, and they’re _taunting_ us.’

Jack looked grim as he nodded.

‘I know, son. I know.’ He stepped on the accelerator, not caring about breaking the speed limit. ‘But we’re gonna catch up.’ Jack gestured with his chin towards Mac. ‘Call Ri and Boze and Leanna; bet you kids can find us a short-cut…’

* * *

Mac and Jack pulled up at the roadside gas station in the middle of nowhere, tires screeching.

The campervan was parked at the gas station, with a separate set of tire tracks belonging to a small truck leading away from it, and as they got out of the car, two men hurried out of the building, both holding shotguns, which were aimed at the two of them.

Mac and Jack raised their hands, exchanging a glance.

‘You’re not the police.’ The taller man stated the obvious with a jerk of his chin. ‘You following your friends’ lead?’

His companion, a bearded man who looked distinctly angrier, cocked his weapon.

‘’You ain’t gonna find it that easy, ‘cause we’re prepared now.’

Murdoc and Helman had clearly stolen the man’s vehicle, and even if they had called the police, in this isolated area, they were clearly accustomed to or prepared to take matters into their own hands.

Mac raised his hands further, voice placating and reassuring.

(He usually spoke in these situations. Jack said he had an earnest face and voice that made people want to believe him.)

‘We’re not the police, but we’re law enforcement, and we’re pursuing the men who stole your vehicle…’

* * *

**DOWN THE ROAD**

**A LITTLE LESS THAN AN HOUR AHEAD**

**SOMEWHERE IN RURAL CALIFORNIA**

* * *

The two assassins drove in their stolen truck down the backroads, heading for their agreed-upon destination.

Helman had insisted on driving, so Murdoc was fiddling around with a soda can he’d found in the foot-well, carefully and methodically shaping it into a weapon of sorts, changing it around on his whim as his inspiration changed.

He could stab someone in the carotid if he changed the fold and sharpened the edge just so, or if he bent it this way, he could make a fine blade to skin someone alive, not that he’d ever had the patience for that…

Helman eventually turned to Murdoc, his tone easy, like he was just making casual conversation.

But Murdoc knew his mentor never did anything _casually._

‘So, Dennis, the young MacGyver? I’ve not seen anyone catch your eye like that since Amber…’ A dark, angry look crossed Murdoc’s face at the mention of that woman, a hatred that he couldn’t hide. Helman smiled, like he knew what he’d just done, the knife he’d just twisted. He covered it as best as he could by rolling his eyes, as if calling the insinuation that Helman was making (not seriously, he could tell) ridiculous. Which it was. Angus MacGyver was his mirror image, the other side of the coin, the Batman to his Joker, as he was sure dear Wilt would say. ‘How is she, by the way?’

Murdoc snorted, and rolled his eyes again, every bit the complaining, put-upon spouse.

‘Oh, she betrayed me, cheated on me, put our son in danger…same old, same old.’

Helman shook his head.

‘I did warn you, Dennis.’

He sounded, for that moment, paternal, if exasperated and somewhat I-told-you-so.

Murdoc rolled his eyes again, crossing his arms huffily, very much that petulant teen again, disturbingly flippant.

‘Don’t date in the field, yeah, yeah, yeah…’

Helman glanced at him, that easy, slightly cocky look on his face that he wore so well.

‘Look how it turned out for you, Dennis. A wife who wants you dead…and a son who is such an easy target…’

That was said easily, breezily, but Murdoc knew that for what it was.

It was a threat.

(They’d been trying to kill each other for years, after all, and it had long crossed the line from being professional, being a job. It was deeply, deeply personal.)

Rage bubbled up inside him, and he harnessed it, readying for action even as he spoke, his voice light and casual and breezy just like Helman’s had been, in the way that disturbed MacGyver so delightfully.

‘Ooh, ouch, old man. Ouch. Then again…it didn’t turn out so well for you, either, did it, marrying out of the field?’

The car swerved, as Helman attempted to whack Murdoc’s side against a large tree to stun him, as Murdoc raised his modified soda can, both of them with a manic, cruel, sadistically joyful spark in their eyes.

This was what they loved.

* * *

Murdoc and Helman wrestled with one another, the car having stopped on the side of the road, until they reached a stalemate.

Helman had his arm wrapped tightly around Murdoc’s neck, with the leverage he needed to break it, able to do so with a reasonably small movement, while Murdoc had his makeshift soda-can-knife held against his carotid artery, able to sever it with a flick of his wrist.

They held that for a long, silent beat, before simultaneously, the arm around Murdoc’s neck went slack, and the makeshift knife was dropped, and they started to laugh hysterically.

Helman reached out and patted Murdoc’s shoulder, a gesture the other assassin returned.

‘Oh, we needed that, Dennis.’

Murdoc grinned back at his mentor.

‘There’s nothing like a little attempted homicide to get the blood singing…’

* * *

**SOMEWHERE ELSE (UNFORTUNATELY)**

**RURAL CALIFORNIA**

* * *

‘…you’re awful quiet, brother, and you know how I get when you get all weird with paperclips…’

As they drove, far faster than advisable, along the roads Bozer, Riley and Leanna had pointed them along in an attempt to catch up with Murdoc and Helman by beating them to their probable next stop, Jack addressed his partner. Mac was in the passenger seat, quiet, and reshaping paperclips like it was going out of style.

(Not that it ever had been in style anyway, but he had gone through a hell of a lot of them.)

(He’d discovered an entire jumbo box of paperclips tucked into the glovebox, along with the medical kit and extra snacks, which had Lil’ Doc’s fingerprints all over it.)

By this point, Jack was as certain as he was that his name was Jack Wyatt Dalton that that meant his boy was lost in his own head, and that that was Real Bad.

So he did what he did best: he started coaxing his boy out of that labyrinth.

* * *

Mac was well aware of what Jack was doing.

Jack was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them.

Besides, after all these years, after everything they’d been through together, sometimes, Mac thought he knew Jack better than he knew himself.

But he was very, very grateful of the distraction from the maze in his mind, where he couldn’t find his way out, where every dead end whispered _it’s your fault_ or _it’s on you_ or _you should have killed him when you had the chance, fool_ or _the blood’s on your hands_ or _how are you going to tell those families that they’re not coming home?_

Mac took a deep breath, then another, then another, forcing himself to throw his mind into reshaping paperclips, navigating according to the directions they were being fed by Riley, Bozer and Leanna, and bickering with Jack.

(He didn’t need all of his admittedly substantial brainpower to do that, but he did his level best to do it anyway.)

‘You _know_ it relaxes me.’

Jack snorted.

‘Yeah, but it’s real weird, man! Why couldn’t you pick something normal to keep your head clear and all? Like whittling!’

Mac looked incredulously at his partner.

‘Whittling? Let me get this straight, you’re seriously suggesting that _whittling_ is a more normal hobby than…’ He gestured vaguely at the half-reshaped paperclip in his right hand with his left. ‘…doing _this_ to paperclips?’

Jack looked put-out.

‘Hey, whittling’s what my old man used to do, don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it, brother…’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

In Matilda’s office, Jim paced back and forth as the two of them worked on coordinating other law enforcement agencies in the hunt for their black site’s escapees, the terrible task of informing the deceased agents’ families and continuing to run the Phoenix, where multiple vital missions were always on the go.

He felt weak and unsteady on his feet, like he still did often after chemo sessions. This one, though, had been particularly difficult.

He was well aware that Matilda was watching him like a hawk, and that she knew exactly what was on his mind, but he’d learned that he couldn’t keep his own counsel all the time, that that was, as Ellen would have put it, a Bad Idea.

He trusted her, absolutely. And she always had the best interests of what he could no longer deny was _their_ family (at least in his own head) in mind.

He _itched_ to be out there in the field, helping Angus take down the escaped psychopathic assassins.

It wasn’t just a matter of the fact that he remained hands-on, despite his role as Oversight.

It was a sense of _duty._

(And of worry, for his son, but that was easier to compartmentalize away. He was used to having to, did it automatically.)

Angus had fought his ghost, had suffered because of the decisions Jim had made, at the hands of an enemy Jim had made.

He _needed_ to help his son fight his.

(He had owed Angus for his sins ever since Angus was five. And now, after the events of the previous May, he owed Angus – and Charlie Robinson’s memory – even more.)

But he _couldn’t,_ a voice in his head reminded him, as his head swum, and he stumbled, a wave of nausea stronger than what he’d been battling all day overcoming him.

* * *

Matty had been worried about Jim all day, knowing how to read him better than anyone else still alive.

Her reputation was well-earned, too, so despite being focused on the files in front of her and on writing an email to the CIA to protect her agents at the same time, she was watching Jim closely too.

When his steps became a little less precise, a little more unsteady, she was on her feet immediately, grabbing his arm and guiding him over to a chair when he stumbled, concern clear on her face when he retched, stomach clearly heaving.

She reached for her phone, and even between retches, Jim shot her a _look,_ arching an eyebrow. She just arched one back.

‘Do you really want to risk her wrath, Jim?’

He sighed, and half a second later, retched again. Matty pulled up a contact and texted a two word code, prearranged between the two of them.

* * *

Precisely two minutes later, Beth entered the office as Matty opened the door for her, holding a small-ish bag from which she pulled a Thermos that smelled of ginger, a packet of saltine crackers, a large number of sick bags, three bottles of Gatorade and a blanket, which she proceeded to drape over Jim’s shoulders. She then passed him the Thermos of ginger tea and shot him a narrow-eyed look. Jim sighed, but it was a fond sound, and took a sip. Satisfied, Beth continued to unpack her bag, pulling out a series of back-issues of _New Scientist, The Economist_ and _TIME Magazine_ , as well as what looked like the remains of the breakroom’s old panini press, leftover from Mac and Jim’s most recent joint project.

Matty did not miss Jim watching her unpack the bag, his brows going up ever-so-slightly as she continued to pull more and more items to keep him healthy and distracted enough he could focus.

She was completely certain that he was trying to puzzle out how in the world she managed to pack so many items into a reasonably-small bag.

Matty, to be fair, was also wondering about that.

It was nearly as uncanny as Bozer’s skill with accounting, or Jack’s French, or Mac’s ability to bend paperclips so easily and with so much skill.

* * *

Meanwhile, Bozer, Riley and Leanna continued to scour social media, traffic cameras and satellite imagery, directing Mac and Jack as best as they could to catch up with Murdoc and Helman.

Riley’s typing changed in cadence suddenly, as an idea struck her, and she followed it instantly, updating Bozer and Leanna as she typed even faster.

‘I’ve got an idea.’ The other two looked up at her, but she didn’t even look up at them as she kept typing. ‘We have a rough idea where Murdoc and Helman are heading.’ They were travelling towards Reno, though they had no idea whether they were just passing through. Still, it was a heading. ‘And we know some of each of their aliases.’ They weren’t so foolish as to presume they knew them all, or even most of them. ‘Leanna, cross-reference all their known aliases’ properties and activity with their potential destinations, Boze, help me find their other aliases so we can do the same thing with those.’

Bozer and Leanna’s eyes lit up with understanding, even as they started typing faster too. Bozer even grinned and glanced at Riley.

‘Follow the money trail?’

There had to be links from one alias to the other, after all. Otherwise, where would they funnel their ill-gotten gains?

‘You got it, Boze.’

He typed even faster, leaning forward to focus more on his laptop screen.

‘Stand back, Double-O-Boze is in action!’

* * *

**SUBURBAN RENO**

**NEVADA**

* * *

‘…wait here, Dennis.’

Murdoc crossed his arms stubbornly, well aware that they needed to change vehicles again, but desperately _itching._

It had been far too long since he’d gotten his hands properly bloody, and he had a far higher need for homicide than most.

‘Why do you _always_ get to go in?’

Helman’s charming silver fox persona was already sliding into place, but he retorted dryly, with an underlying snap and impatience that only his like, his peers, would hear.

‘Because I’m capable of presenting as something other than a homicidal psychopath, Dennis.’

Murdoc rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat, frustrated and snippy.

‘You do you, they always say.’ He practically pouted. ‘Then you do you, and it’s suddenly, you do you, but not _you_!’

It was Helman’s turn to roll his eyes, and he stepped out of the car, striding up to the nearest house, home to a carefully, but quickly selected target: a housewife home alone as the kids were at school and her husband at work.

Dennis’ biggest weakness had always been an inability to blend in, at least not for long.

Oh, he could disappear, but he could never bend it, not the way that Helman could.

And that had always given him an edge over his protégé.

* * *

**TWENTY MINUTES LATER**

* * *

Mac and Jack pulled up at the house, the car not quite coming to a stop before Mac jumped out. Rolling his eyes and grumbling at his partner’s lack of sense of self-preservation, Jack parked the car as fast as he could and jumped out, running after the blonde.

By doing some of her magic, helped out by Bozer doing his own magic, and Leanna’s extreme competence, Riley had put together what aliases of Murdoc’s they’d known, some money trails, satellite imagery, traffic cam footage and police reports of car thefts, and come up with this location.

She was fairly certain (80%, give or take 5%, she’d told Mac) that Murdoc and Helman had been here, had stolen this woman’s car, and she might have some intel for them.

The middle-aged woman was mostly unharmed, but she was shaken. She glanced between them, and stared at Mac for a long, long moment.

‘…we’re not the police, but we’re here to help, ma’am. They’re dangerous fugitives, and we’re trying to stop them from hurting more people…’

Jack knew Mac probably wouldn’t believe him, but their boy gave off an air of _goodness_ , of something kind and light and trustworthy and noble.

It was how, Jack reckoned, he won himself so many friends.

He grinned to himself as the woman started to talk, put at ease.

That, and the fact that he was basically a really smart and human-ified loveable, adorable Golden Retriever.

Jack’s expression sobered again, as the woman held out a piece of paper with an address written on it.

‘I found this in the garage, after…’

Mac and Jack exchanged a glance, and Jack sighed internally, but externally, grinned and did his best to bring some light into the darkness, to keep his boy from getting lost in the dark in his own head. He put on his best Admiral Ackbar voice.

‘It’s a trap!’

Mac gave a snort that was close enough to a laugh.

* * *

**THE ADDRESS ON THE PIECE OF PAPER**

**AN INDUSTRIAL AREA**

**RENO**

**NEVADA**

* * *

The garage door of the warehouse closed behind Helman and Murdoc. There was a moment’s silence, before Helman broke it.

‘We’ve reached your safehouse, Dennis.’

‘So now you’ll take half my stash…’ He kept weaponry and cash here, for a rainy day. ‘…and we’ll go our separate ways…such a shame, though, Helman, I was enjoying this!’

Helman nodded.

‘Just like old times, eh, Dennis?’

There was a tension in the air, as the two men eyed each other across the warehouse, mere feet apart.

Like two predators, stalking one another through the grass.

The tenuous truce (and it had always been that) shook, then shattered, and at the same time, the two assassins launched at one another.

At first, there were no weapons, as if this were spontaneous, but then, Murdoc got Helman into a headlock, held a knife at his throat, one that Helman recognized from the knife block at the housewife’s home. Murdoc grinned, his eyes bright with the excitement of doing what he loved, getting sweet, sweet revenge for the months of horrific singing Helman had put him through, and for the older man trying to kill him, of course.

Helman looked surprised, for a moment, and Murdoc’s grin widened.

‘I’ve been planning, just like you taught me, old man!’

Helman’s expression shifted, and Murdoc felt a prick in his thigh, far too close to his femoral artery. He glanced down, caught a glance of a knife that looked an awful lot like the ones that they’d eaten steak with at that very, very greasy diner.

‘I’m still the master, Dennis.’

Murdoc smirked, having anticipated that.

‘Oh, but the apprentice always surpasses the master…’

He moved, shifting, getting into a better position, but clearly, Helman had anticipated this for a long time too, and moved at the same time, the two of them in sync, even as they fought one another viciously.

* * *

Murdoc, bleeding from a cut on his forearm, wiped sweat from his brow as he and Helman circled one another, at a détente for now. The older assassin was limping ever-so-slightly, and his eyes were damp and clouded from tears due to Murdoc landing a good blow to the nose.

Still, the younger assassin was well aware that his mentor was still very, very dangerous.

A wounded lion could be far more deadly, after all.

Helman smiled darkly.

‘Really is just like old times, Dennis.’

Murdoc smirked back, the expression just as horrifying, with that sadistic gleam of joy in there.

‘Reminds of me of that time in Madrid…’

He didn’t finish speaking before he lunged again, hoping to get in a hit while Helman wouldn’t be expecting it, but got a laugh as the older man moved to counter him.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten who taught you that trick?’

* * *

Eventually, though, Murdoc’s relative youth gave him too much of an advantage in this fight, close quarters, hand-to-hand, without the high-powered weaponry that the two of them were both very fond of.

The last thing that Helman heard as his senses blurred out was his former protégé’s voice, that dark, unhinged tone in it (the one that had concerned even him, a little bit, when he’d first met Dennis) that he’d always been hopeless at hiding.

‘…’till next time, old man. ‘Till next time.’

* * *

Mac and Jack pulled up at the warehouse, just in time to see a car go screeching down the alleyway. Jack fired a few shots after it, trying to take out the tires, but failed to make a hit as it was too far away.

Mac raised a hand to his earpiece.

‘Riley-‘

‘Tracking the car, Leanna’s coordinating with local law enforcement…’

Jack cursed as the car disappeared around a corner, and with laser-sharp focus, Mac got to work picking the lock on the warehouse’s side door. Without having to speak, Jack took up a position in front of it, his weapon at the ready, and Mac flung the door open.

Jack burst in first, the blonde hot on his heels, both prepared for any kind of trap and every kind of trouble.

They were, however, surprised by what they found.

Nicholas Helman, unconscious and tied thoroughly and tightly to one of the large concrete columns that supported the roof.

Mac strode over, pulling off the note that had been taped (with duct-tape, which had also been used to gag Helman) to the assassin.

His face grew set with anger-guilt- _obsession_ as he read the note, and wordlessly, he walked back over and held it out to Jack.

**Angus, you can owe me one.**

Jack swallowed, raised a hand to his earpiece.

‘Ri?’

They could both hear her headshake, see the look on her face, when she responded.

‘I’m sorry, I lost him.’

Mac, in an uncharacteristic display of temper, cursed, his grip on the note tightening, crumpling the paper.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Mac sat in the war room, reshaping paperclips. The bowl on the coffee table was nearly empty, with a huge mound of reshaped paperclips beside it.

His fingers, despite being calloused and rough, were beginning to feel a little raw from the constant work.

But he ignored the physical discomfort bordering on pain.

Murdoc was on the loose again, which meant that innocent people were in danger, that the people he loved were in danger, that Cassian was in danger, even.

(He knew Murdoc would never, ever hurt his son, and that in his own way, he understood that he was not good for the boy, that his life was not good for the boy…but there was always the risk of Cassian being used to leverage his father, or that Murdoc’s twisted mind would lose sight of that lesson he’d learned with the incident with Amber.)

And a voice in his head, louder now, without an immediate mission to focus on, kept saying, _you should have killed him when you had the chance. Maybe you can’t protect everyone, but you swore to defend them with everything you had, MacGyver. But you haven’t used everything you have, have you?_

And that voice continued, whispering to him that it wasn’t as simple as Jack said, that it wasn’t his nature to be a killer.

Because, that voice was in his head, that voice knew everything that had ever crossed his mind.

Because, maybe, just maybe, it _was_ part of his nature.

There was darkness in him.

He knew that.

He’d confronted it before, felt it bubble to the surface, felt it take control, and it _terrified_ him.

The war room door opened, and heavy footsteps, deliberately heavy footsteps, crossed over to him, sitting opposite him on the couch with an exaggerated relaxed sigh.

Mac looked up, and saw Jack sitting opposite him. The brunette leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, seemingly relaxed. He reached out and touched a fist to Mac’s knee.

‘Come on, son, I get it, you ain’t happy ‘cause Murder-Thing 1 got away, but we got one of ‘em! 50%’s a pass, come on, take that!’

He was well aware that Murdoc’s escape weighed heavily on Jack too, but the older man had always had a gift for fighting the darkness with light, one that had helped Mac through so, so much.

Still, Mac sighed, tossing down the very last paperclip, which was shaped like an anvil.

‘He’s going to hurt people, Jack.’ Mac swallowed, sounding like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘Quite possibly people that I love.’

Jack got up from his seat, perching on the arm of the armchair Mac was sitting in, and put an arm around the younger man’s shoulders.

‘Yeah, he’s probably gonna try. But you’re gonna defend us with everything you have, son, and you ain’t gonna do it alone, you hear me?’

Jack gave the younger man a little shake to emphasise that point, voice full of emotion and promise and determination, and Mac looked up at him and gave a wan little smile, but one that fully reached his eyes. The burden might not be any lighter, but he wasn’t alone as he carried it, and even that made a difference.

‘Yeah, I hear you.’

Jack smiled, and right on cue, the war room door opened again, and in strode Bozer, Riley and Leanna, carrying a frankly astounding assortment of food. Apple pie from the diner (the one that did good apple pie), along with a gallon of vanilla ice-cream, burgers and fries, and lastly, in Bozer’s hands, something that smelled suspiciously like Robert Reese’s shrimp gumbo.

(Mac suspected that Bozer had wheedled the recipe out of his dear friend.)

Beth followed less than thirty seconds later, carrying a bag which clanked a little when she set it down, and from which Bozer began to pull cutlery and crockery, as well as a kidney dish of paperclips, which she held out to Mac.

‘Your rate of paperclip consumption is high, but also reasonably variable.’ She raised a shoulder and smiled, half-wry, half-sheepish. ‘It seemed like a good idea to have an emergency stash.’

She glanced at the empty bowl of paperclips, the smile widening.

Mac smiled at all of them, gratefully taking the bowl of shrimp gumbo Bozer passed him, suddenly hungry, his stomach choosing that moment to grumble loudly, prompting laughter all round.

Jack elbowed him lightly as he chowed down on fries, four at a time.

‘You accidentally swallow an engine, brother?’

There was a voice behind them, wry and teasing in a way that Mac was still, frankly, getting used to.

‘I heard that down the hall, Angus.’

His dad walked into the war room, immediately taking a seat when Beth glanced his way, before taking the small bowl of gumbo and spoon she passed him, his own appetite suddenly returning.

They were all one bowl of gumbo deep, and most of the fries were gone, when Matty walked into the war room, her gaze zeroing in on Mac.

‘Helman is back in prison, at our new black site.’ Her voice grew gentler, more sympathetic and reassuring. ‘And our security on Cassian has been upped, Mac.’

He nodded and smiled at her.

‘Thanks, Matty.’ Mac gestured at the pot of gumbo. ‘Gumbo? It’s Robert’s recipe…’

Matty sat down, but glanced at Bozer, looking as astounded as she ever looked.

(Which was not very, but still.)

‘You convinced Robert Reese to give you his secret shrimp gumbo recipe?’

Bozer preened, looking very, very smug.

‘Double-O-Boze never reveals his secrets, boss.’ Matty quirked an eyebrow at him, as Riley and Leanna exchanged a glance behind his back, hints of matching amused, teasing smirks playing on their faces. Bozer backtracked. ‘Uh…maybe to you, since you, uh, asked so nicely?’

Despite everything, despite the darkness of the day, the darkness in his mind, Mac smiled freely and chuckled, just like everyone else in the room.

* * *

_Sirius Black said, ‘We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on.’_

_Yes, I’ve read_ Harry Potter. _Cover to cover, multiple times._

_I’m a Millennial. Enough said._

_I suppose I shouldn’t be scared of the darkness I’ve got inside me._

_I should be scared of one day acting on it._

_I’ve come close. I know I have._

_I’ll come close again._

_But as long as I remember this?_

_As long as I remember that that isn’t who I am, remember the people I love, remember my family, remember that there is good – an awful lot of good – in the world, in people in general?_

_As long as I remember that, I’ll make the right choice._

_As long as I remember moments like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think Mac is really very dark at all (he’s got a dark side, but everyone does, and after all he’s been through?), but I do think that Mac is acutely aware of his dark side, worries about it, is scared about it and is terrified at acting on it, despite the fact that every time he’s acted on it (eg. attempting to strangle Murdoc, or his treatment of Mason), he’s managed to pull back, and besides, dark!Mac is not really all that dark or evil or immoral anyway. (I mean, punching Mason in the face after his surrender is not nice and is rather violent for Mac, but he didn’t shoot him, nor did he punch him hard enough he might have fallen and hit his head on the concrete…)
> 
> The psychopath buddy road trip was tricky to write, and I do worry the tone was too irreverent, but it is _MacGyver_ , and Murdoc is very…well, Murdoc. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed that ep!
> 
> There is no episode tag, but here’s the press release for the next ep:
> 
> 4.09, Homeland/Homecoming. Matty sends Mac and Jack to help Desi finish her mission to take down a human trafficking ring in Vietnam. Also, the family is thankful for many things at Thanksgiving.
> 
> Desi returns!
> 
> I’m even busier than normal in the next couple of weeks (I am teaching two undergrad lab classes and have nearly thirty practical reports to mark, I’m volunteering for my uni’s open day, and am serving as a graduate research representative to our associate dean…as you can see, I am awful at saying no), so I might not get this up in a fortnight, it might have to be three weeks before you guys get to see Desi!


	9. Homeland/Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matty sends Mac and Jack to help Desi finish her mission to take down a human trafficking ring in Vietnam. Also, the family celebrates Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning on this chapter for human trafficking, slavery and sexual exploitation, including of minors. It is completely non-explicit, and reasonably oblique and vague. The bad guys will get what’s coming for them.

**A SMALL VILLAGE**

**LAO CAI PROVINCE**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

Desi, in her usual T-shirt and olive-green khakis, finished her delicious lunch, a bowl of steaming, fragrant noodle soup that reminded her a little of rare weekend mornings from when she’d been a child. She put her chopsticks on the side of her bowl, and got up from the plastic stool she’d been sitting on underneath a brightly-striped but faded awning and brought the bowl up to the hawker’s cart that served as the kitchen of her favourite restaurant in town.

The middle-aged woman who ran it smiled at her, and Desi smiled back, handing her back the bowl, before tucking a little cash into a drawer on the cart when the proprietor turned to serve another customer, knowing she’d find it later.

She’d already paid, but the gossip on the town grapevine was that the woman had a new grandchild, and as welcomed as a child was, Desi had been living here long enough to recognize that another mouth to feed really was that here, not a saying to be taken lightly.

There was, sadly, a reason why the men (well, mostly men; they seemed to have a slightly higher tendency to be bad guys) that she’d been hunting for the last four months had targeted this village.

She’d seen the same thing over and over again in rural northern Vietnam over the last few months, as she’d moved around, striking blows against her target, section by section, man by man.

Poverty and a lack of opportunities made the locals easy targets (especially the young, who dreamed of life beyond their small villages and read about it and saw photos of it online, and especially the girls). Easy pickings for the human trafficking ring she’d been taking down, piece by piece, over the last few months.

Desi smiled and waved at a little boy who grinned widely at her and waved as they passed in the street, stopping and crouching down to greet him and give the skinny, long-legged dog who followed him everywhere a scratch between the ears.

She passed some local women returning from the persimmon fields, baskets on their backs full of fruit, and sang softly along to the song the group sang without even really thinking about it, a soft smile on her face and feeling oddly at peace.

She liked it here, in this tucked-away little village in the mountains, near the border with China.

For the first couple of months, she’d worked deeper undercover, concealing her presence as best as she could as she took down progressively higher-ranked members of the ring, freeing their victims, moving around between towns and villages and not staying anywhere for too long.

Eventually, it’d become impossible to hide the fact that there was definitely someone taking them out (a very organized and very skilled someone, though Desi was convinced that the ring still believed they were looking for an entire team, not a single woman), and she’d gotten close to the very top of the organization anyway, and needed to establish a base near their HQ to take them out.

Hence, becoming an ordinary, if not somewhat distant, mysterious and often-disappearing, presence in this village.

(She’d heard the whispers. Some – especially superstitious mothers of teen daughters, who all had a friend who knew someone whose daughter had been taken – whispered that she was a spirit sent to protect them, in answer to their prayers and offerings.)

(She supposed it was true that ever since she’d come and taken out the traffickers’ local _recruiter_ in the village – and made it abundantly clear that she would come down _very, very_ hard on his potential replacement – there hadn’t been any more mysterious disappearances.)

Desi caught the persimmon that one of the women tossed her, and tossed back a handful of coins, shooting the woman an insistent look when she protested.

(She was no spirit, no deity, no goddess. She was here to do something good, to help, but she was just a woman.)

Desi took a bite of the persimmon. It was delicious, but it wasn’t quite what she was craving.

(No Vietnamese spirit of the mountains or guardian-angel-goddess would be craving spicy ranch chips.)

(And ranch dressing in general. And mac’n’cheese and Hershey bars and peanut butter cups and hot dogs and just about every variety of good old American junk food and comfort food.)

(She’d already finished all of the seasoning powder Mac had sent her a couple of Phoenix ‘care packages’ ago.)

Desi took another bite of her persimmon and strode towards the house on the edge of town that’d become her home base, shaking those idle thoughts from her mind and focusing.

She had a busy night ahead of her.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Desi, now dressed like a local woman, in a loose T-shirt with a high neckline and baggy linen trousers, a conical hat on her head to obscure her features somewhat, and a bandana tied around her neck to conceal her tattoos, hitched a ride out of the small village with one of the local farmers. She rode in the back of his truck along with a couple other villagers and a heap of produce, ready for the Sa Pa markets the next morning.

(Sa Pa, the nearest major town, close to the border with China, was the best place to sell your goods for miles around.)

(It was also, Desi had determined, the HQ of the entire trafficking ring’s operations.)

Her mind was focused on the task she had ahead of her, the busy night she had planned, but outwardly, Desi strove to show as little sign of that as possible, singing a song she recalled from her childhood softly as the truck puttered through the Vietnamese countryside.

* * *

**SA PA**

**LAO CAI PROVINCE**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

A couple of hours later, after night had fallen properly, and Sa Pa had grown quiet (except for the touristy parts, which were still loud and awake and only getting started), Desi, still disguised as a local, ducked into a tiny alcove behind a seamstress’s shop.

(The widow who ran the shop had insisted Desi use it for free, since she’d ‘found’ her ‘lost’ daughter before she could be smuggled across the border, and sworn up and down that she would keep her use of it a secret.)

(Desi trusted her on that, but had also hidden some cash for the mother and daughter to find when she’d moved on.)

She pulled off her hat once she was out of sight, and put it down, pulling out the change of clothes she’d hidden: another bandana with a different pattern, gypsy pants (the kind popular with backpackers across south-east Asia) and a flannel shirt. Efficiently, she stripped off her disguise, leaving her in leggings and a tank-top, then put on her backpacker outfit. She finished it off by tying the bandana around her head, then inspected her weapons to make sure they were still concealed yet readily accessible.

Putting on her best I-wanna-be-Insta-famous smile, Desi slipped out of the alcove and into the crowd of backpackers heading for Sa Pa’s nightlife that just happened to be passing by.

* * *

Desi slipped away from the backpackers after a while, thankfully before they got _too_ drunk (and consequently sloppy and handsy), in the middle of Sa Pa’s seediest neighbourhood.

As the backpackers proceeded down one of the neighbourhood’s main streets, she ducked down an alleyway, nose wrinkling at the distinct, unpleasant stench.

(It was where people tended to end up after having had several too many, later in the night.)

Relieved that it wasn’t _that_ late, at least, Desi ducked down another smaller alleyway, then jumped up onto a trash can, bracing her hands on the roof of the building in front of her. She then pulled herself onto the roof with a bit of a grin, and started to run along the roof, quick and with light steps, the directions she’d worked out and memorized earlier at the forefront of her mind.

* * *

Desi landed lightly on the roof of the building she was targeting, a small, nondescript, frankly run-down (at least from the outside) building in the quietest, most inaccessible part of Sa Pa’s seedy district. She waited for a couple of minutes, still as a statue, until the building’s inhabitants she _knew_ would be there decided it was a bird or a small animal, then, still quiet, still careful, reached into her flannel shirt to grab the tiny laser-torch that’d been in one of the Phoenix care packages.

With a tiny grin-smirk, tempered with cool focus, tinged with vicious, righteous anger, she turned on the laser-torch and started to cut a hole in the roof.

* * *

Desi, gun in hand, dropped through the roof, disturbing the Chinese Triad boss meeting with one of the local higher-ups and catching them and their security off-guard.

Before they could react, she shot one guard through the shoulder, before shooting a second through the wrist as he pulled out his weapon, forcing him to drop it. The third guard, perhaps judging that she might shoot his Triad boss if he drew his own weapon, stepped forward with a vicious-looking knife, and she blocked his attempted strike, elbowed him hard in the solar plexus, then grabbed him in a headlock, tightening her arm until he dropped. He was barely growing slack when she stepped forward and grabbed the fourth, youngest and greenest goon’s gun, yanking him forward and off-balance, then kicking him hard, so that he fell hard on the ground, badly winded and head jarred.

The whole sequence took mere seconds, and then, both the Triad boss and the local guy had guns pointed at their heads, both held expertly by a very, very dangerous woman whose eyes promised no mercy…and whose reputation preceded her.

‘Sorry to interrupt your evening, gentlemen.’

Desi didn’t sound sorry at all.

Of course, that didn’t mean that these sleazeballs didn’t try to save their own skins.

The Triad boss, who perhaps didn’t know as much about the mysterious attacks that’d been plaguing this organization of late, opened his mouth.

‘Now, I’m sure we can come to an agreement, young lady-‘

Desi didn’t let him finish, moving quickly to roundhouse kick him in the head, just hard enough to knock him out. He crumpled to the ground, and the local human trafficker didn’t have any time to react, as she spun around and kicked him unconscious too.

Threats neutralized, Desi finally turned her attention to two young women in skimpy cocktail dresses (younger than her and Bozer, younger than Mac and Riley and probably barely allowed to drink if they were back in the States). One of the women had dropped her tray of drinks when Desi had dropped in on the meeting, while the other was still holding a tray of snacks in very shaky hands. They were both wide-eyed and terrified.

She held her hands up, spreading her palms wide, channelling Mac’s unthreatening earnestness as best as she could, and spoke in Vietnamese.

‘I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help you.’ She was pretty sure Mac did it better, but it seemed to be enough for the two women, who glanced at each other, then started whispering in rapid, slang-heavy Vietnamese. Desi didn’t quite understand it all, but caught something about the rumours about a deadly, protective spirit. Moving slowly, unthreateningly, she crouched down and pulled out the wallets of the Triad boss and the local trafficking lieutenant, taking their cash, before pulling out a couple more wads from the pockets of her gypsy pants. She tossed a bundle at each woman, looking up at them seriously, but as softly, gently, as she ever was, too. ‘Go home to your kids.’ She turned a little to look at the woman who’d been holding drinks. ‘Take your son…’ She switched her gaze to the other woman. ‘…and your daughter to hospital.’ She gestured with her chin at the wads of cash they now held, quashing the disgust and anger at the unconscious baddies whose meeting she’d interrupted she felt. (They’d chosen these women for a reason, after all, knew exactly what it took to buy their silence and their cooperation and _them_ as the evening’s _entertainment_.) Her tone changed a little, growing firmer, sterner, full of warning. ‘Don’t tell anyone what you saw tonight.’

That got her two bows with eager, full-of-awe nods that unnerved her slightly, and then the two women were gone.

Desi then rummaged in the traffickers’ lieutenant’s pockets, searching for something very specific, carefully leashing her desire to pin the man to the wall with one hand and punch him repeatedly with the other.

She pulled out a key, unmarked and nondescript, then pulled a rug from the floor, finding a locked trapdoor, just as she’d expected. Desi unlocked the door and pulled it open with extreme prejudice, and stuck her head down the opening.

Ten pairs of terrified, dark eyes set in tear-stained faces stared back up at her. They all belonged to local girls, ranging from teens to perhaps early twenties at oldest. The youngest was probably twelve or thirteen, tucked into the side of the oldest girl.

Desi _really, really_ wanted to punch that man. Hell, she wanted to put a bullet through his brain, and that of his Triad friend too.

But she couldn’t. She needed whatever intel she could get from them.

And these girls were terrified enough.

They didn’t need her scaring them.

So despite the fact that this probably wasn’t her department, wasn’t her strong point, Desi put on her best reassuring smile, and held out a hand to the nearest girl, speaking in Vietnamese automatically.

‘Come on, let’s get you out of there.’

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the girls were huddled in the corner, nibbling on the food Desi had scrounged out of the cupboards, feeling no qualms about stealing from the lowest of the low, talking to one another in low voices in rapid Vietnamese.

The Vietnamese-American agent, meanwhile, was putting the traffickers where they belonged: in the cellar where they’d kept their _product._

A couple of them had come ‘round again, and she tossed them a few water bottles.

‘Make it last.’ Desi started to close the trapdoor. ‘I’ll be back for you later.’

Wisely, a couple of the goons exchanged a nervous, fearful glance. Savage satisfaction playing lightly on her lips, Desi slammed the trapdoor shut.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…just saying, brother, it’s just plain unnatural to own that many mirrors!’ Jack held up his hands as he and Mac strode into the war room, answering Matty’s summons. ‘I mean, I get it, a man’s gotta look good and he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do, but you’re taking it to some real weird level…’

Mac rolled his eyes in a long-suffering, exasperatedly-fond way.

‘You weren’t complaining about my mirror collection two years ago.’

It, along with his prism collection, had been very useful the time The Ghost had tried to blow up him, Jack, half his neighbourhood and a few blocks of downtown.

The memory was tinged with sadness, with grief, at the reminder of Charlie, but Mac let it run gently through him as he and Jack closed the war room door behind them. Matty arched an eyebrow at them as Jack continued to ramble some kind of long-winded, half-nonsensical response, like she was asking, _you done, Dalton?_ Jack just grinned unapologetically, and Mac shook his head, grabbing a paperclip as Matty raised her tablet and tapped the screen to start their mission briefing.

‘As you know, Desi has been on a top-secret mission for the Phoenix for the last few months.’ Some images appeared on the screen; a map of northern Vietnam, and documents from the Phoenix, Interpol and Chinese and Vietnamese law enforcement regarding a human trafficking ring operating in the region. ‘Now we’re reading you in, Jack, Blondie.’ Matty tapped her tablet again, and photos of young Asian women, all dolled up but with dead- or terrified-looking eyes appeared, text underneath their photos in Mandarin. Jack couldn’t read it, but the anger and disgust that crossed Mac’s face, coupled with all the context, made him understand, made him ball his fists up by his sides, growing very, very eager to punch the baddies that Matty directed them at. ‘A human trafficking ring has set up in impoverished regions of northern Vietnam, near the Chinese border. They lure girls and young women in with the promise of better jobs and a better life in China, and then they smuggle them across the border to be sold as maids, in brothels or as wives.’ Mac’s expression grew even more set, the tightly-leashed and focused anger in his eyes deeper, and his hands started to re-shape the paperclip he was holding. The One Child Policy had had deep-seated and culturally-predictable consequences, some of which had led to an uptick in some of the most disgusting of criminal behaviours. Matty glanced between the two of them, nodded once, and tapped her tablet screen again. The map of northern Vietnam re-appeared, crosses over multiple towns and villages. ‘Desi has been slowly taking down the ring, bit by bit, working her way up.’ Mac and Jack smiled at that. Desi was deadly, well-trained, focused and one of the best in the business. She also deeply cared about people, wanted to protect the innocent as much as they did, even if she showed it in a very _Desi_ way. Those traffickers didn’t stand a chance against her. ‘She’s almost identified the big boss. He’s known as The Monkey King, is probably a Chinese national with ties to the Triads, and is operating out of Sa Pa or surrounds.’ A red circle appeared around the town. ‘I’m sending you two to help her finish taking him and his gang down.’

Jack grinned in a way that was savage and terrifying and made it very, very clear that silly, goofy and loving family man he might be, he was also a very, very dangerous, well-trained covert operative. He cracked his knuckles.

‘Oh, they’re going down, Matty. They’re going down.’

He said it like it was a promise.

_And it is a promise._

_We meet a lot of terrible, amoral or immoral people in this line of work._

_We take a lot of them down, too._

_But Jack reckons there’s a special place in Hell reserved for human traffickers and slavers, especially this kind._

_Can’t say he’s wrong._

Mac tossed a paperclip shaped like a ball and chain down on the coffee table.

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN**

**ON-ROUTE TO VIETNAM**

* * *

Jack looked up at Mac over the file in his hands, which had extra mission briefing details, for the sixth time since they’d taken off.

Mac, who had already memorized the contents of the file and was fiddling around with some paperclips to keep his hands busy and his head clear, rolled his eyes.

Jack was many things, but subtle was absolutely not one of them.

‘Oh, just get on with it.’

Jack made a noise of protestation. Mac arched an eyebrow at him. Jack sighed, and waved a hand.

‘Fine, fine, nothing gets past that huge brain of yours, should know that by now…’ Jack’s expression grew serious, concerned. ‘You gonna be okay seeing and working with Dez again?’

Mac nodded immediately, with certainty.

‘I’ll be fine, Jack.’ He paused. ‘We’ll be fine.’ He raised a shoulder. ‘We’re professionals.’ The Phoenix didn’t exactly scream professionalism, but they were all capable of compartmentalizing and getting on with the job when they needed to; every single one of the Phoenix’s agents and support staff had proved that. Something grimly serious crossed Mac’s face. ‘We have a very important mission to focus on.’ He paused again, shrugging once more, glancing at the window, then looking back at Jack. ‘And…I think that things are, uh, _different_ between us now.’

Mac was admittedly not the best at this sort of thing. Desi, with all those walls and all her spikes and sharp edges, wasn’t loads better. Text messaging and the occasional Skype call were not the best way of telling, anyway.

But he was as sure as he could be that things really _were_ different between them now, that feelings had shifted and changed, now that that first blush of attraction had faded and they’d put that effort into changing their dynamic.

Jack nodded, then spoke, voice clearly concerned.

‘Good different?’

There was a little flicker of sadness (finding love in this line of work was damn near impossible, and Mac, as her friend and sometimes-partner, worried about Desi, worried about the way she held herself apart), but Mac smiled genuinely, easily and nodded.

‘Yeah, good different.’

It really was, as far as he could tell.

Desi was still _Desi._ Still prickly, still with her moods that could turn between soft and open and surprisingly sweet, to brusque and professional and almost-cold fast enough to give him whiplash. But they laughed and teased almost as easily as he did with Jack or Bozer or Riley now, and somehow, those mood switches didn’t seem to happen as often, like Desi was allowing herself to be just _herself_ (prickly and badass and focused, but with a love for stupid, life-threatening dares or bets, an obsession with spicy ranch and a mischievous streak and a dry sense of humour and a soft underbelly), not just, well, either Desi or Agent Nguyen in turn. And when they did happen, those sudden transitions didn’t really jar him anymore, didn’t provoke that flicker of hurt mixed with confusion they had a few months back.

Desi was still a puzzle, an enigma, a mystery. He would probably always want to figure her out, but Mac _always_ wanted to figure things out. But he no longer got that occasional feeling like he was on slightly unstable ground or in a funhouse of mirrors with her.

He knew where they stood with one another, in a way that he hadn’t those months ago. It might not have been what he’d hoped for then, but it was good, it was enough (more than enough), and it was, honestly, _better._

Jack smiled, soft and fond and easy and broad.

That matched what he’d wheedled out of Dez, what he’d read in her words, on her face, in the way she held herself.

He’d worried about them, even when he’d been away chasing that SOB, when word of, well, _that_ had started to filter through to him, when he’d come back and it’d become really obvious he shouldn’t have been worrying about them trying to _kill_ each other.

He couldn’t say that he didn’t wish that it’d worked out the other way (he and Diane were very, very happy and at peace in a way that he’d wish for all of his loved ones), but Jack knew the value of a good, stable friendship, and he was real happy for the kids.

(And hey, maybe somewhere out there in the multiverse that Mac and Boze loved to jabber away about, Mac and Dez were partners in more than one sense, might one day have brilliant little badasses who knew three martial arts and four ways to turn a toaster into an IED.)

* * *

**JUST OUTSIDE OF A SMALL VILLAGE**

**LAO CAI PROVINCE**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

‘…seriously, why’d she have to pick this spot? It’s the middle of nowhere!’

Mac and Jack hiked through the forests, having been going uphill for what seemed like ages. Jack complained loudly, swatting flies, and his partner just rolled his eyes as they rounded into the tiny, inaccessible-in-every-way-except-foot clearing that Desi had sent them the coordinates of.

‘That’s exactly the point, Jack.’

They were trying to avoid being spotted by the traffickers and arousing suspicion.

‘What he said, Dalton.’

Mac and Jack both grinned reflexively as they heard a familiar voice.

Desi was leaning nonchalantly against a tree, dressed like a backpacker in gypsy pants, a tied-off shirt over a tank-top and a bandana tied around her head. Her hair had grown long enough to put into an admittedly-short ponytail.

She smiled back at the two of them, as wide as she ever did, and Jack’s smile shifted into something soft and fond. He held up his arms, and Desi rolled her eyes affectionately, stepped forward and hugged him.

‘Missed ya, Dez.’

Over Jack’s shoulder, Desi rolled her eyes at Mac as Jack’s hug turned into a patented Jack Dalton bear hug, but the gesture was obviously affectionate.

‘Good to see you, Jack.’ They let go of one another, and Desi crossed her arms again, tilting her head to the side and smirking at Mac. ‘Did you bring more of the good stuff, Bill Nye?’

Mac’s expression shifted, falling somewhere between a smug smirk and a fond grin, and he tossed a packet that he pulled from his messenger bag at the Vietnamese-American agent, who caught it expertly, tucked it into the pocket of her pants, and stepped forward to hug him too.

She didn’t hold on for as long or as tightly or so blatantly affectionately as she had when she’d hugged Jack, but it also wasn’t awkward, didn’t have that awkward _awareness_ that they used to have.

As he followed Desi and Jack back into town, half-listening to the two of them bicker about something that’d happened years and years ago, before he’d met Jack, that involved a bet gone wrong, a really stupid dare, a six-pack of beer and a WWII grenade, Mac nodded to himself.

His and Desi’s dynamic really had shifted, and it really was for the better.

What they had now, that was easy and stable and simple and comfortable, and he had never, ever thought that friendship was somehow worth _less_ than romance.

How could he, with the friends-who-were-family he had?

* * *

**DESI’S SAFEHOUSE**

**A SMALL VILLAGE**

**LAO CAI PROVINCE**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

Desi led them to the rather large house on a quiet street on the outskirts of town, and knocked on the door in a set pattern.

Mac and Jack exchanged a glance, a sneaking suspicion in their eyes.

A larger-than-she-needed base of operations, her asking for their help when they both knew first-hand how incredibly capable Desi was…

It wasn’t _just_ about taking down The Monkey King.

Their suspicion was confirmed when Desi unlocked the door after hearing an answering pattern of knocks, and they stepped inside.

There were three doors leading off the main room; one locked, one leading to a room that was turned into a makeshift sleeping space, the floor covered in blankets, and one leading to a bathroom.

There was also a gaggle of Vietnamese girls standing behind the kitchen table, all staring at Mac and Jack warily, something a little haunted in their eyes. The youngest one, thirteen at eldest, was tucked into the side of one of the oldest, who had an arm wrapped around her.

One of the girls, who wasn’t even five feet tall and couldn’t have been older than twenty, was also holding a frying pan threateningly.

(Her stance was all wrong, as was her grip – it wasn’t effective for swinging the pan as a weapon, and made it too easy to flick it out of her hands – but there was something fiercely determined and protective in her expression. It reminded Mac a little of Bozer and a little of Beth, and made him smile.)

The two men exchanged a glance. Clearly, Desi didn’t need their help to take down The Monkey King…she needed their help to take him and his organization down while protecting their victims who couldn’t be safely returned to their homes and families.

Mac and Jack, on instinct, put their hands up, palms up and did their best to look unthreatening. Desi, meanwhile, spoke in Vietnamese, her voice reassuring, gentle in that way she rarely was.

‘It’s okay. They’re the friends I told you about. They’re here to help us.’

The partners smiled. Mac waved awkwardly, and spoke in Vietnamese too.

‘Hi, I’m Mac. I like your use of your frying pan.’

(He’d started learning the language after that mission in Brazil, mostly, honestly, because of that moment on the electricity tower.)

Jack muttered something under his breath, about how every time he thought he knew how many languages Mac spoke, he went and learned another one.

Desi quirked an eyebrow at him, something amused and a little teasing in her eyes, while a few of the girls broke into giggles.

(Mac’s accent was _terrible._ Worse than Desi’s, which the girls had taken to hesitantly, shyly, teasing her about.)

The frying pan was lowered, and that fierce young woman passed it to one of the others, who started cooking breakfast. The other girls relaxed, though all three Phoenix agents noted that at least two of the girls kept an eye on Mac and Jack at all times.

Which in turn made anger, righteous, protective anger, course through all three of them.

Jack gestured with his head at the locked room.

‘That where you’re keeping your unwanted house guests, Dez?’ The disgust and anger in his voice was palpable, as Desi nodded. Jack cracked his knuckles. ‘Mind if I take a crack at ‘em?’

Desi gave a crooked little smile and tossed Jack a key, which he caught neatly.

‘Be my guest.’

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, everyone was ignoring the occasional thumps and shouts from the makeshift jail cell/interrogation room, while Mac had a forensic testing kit spread out on the kitchen table and was collecting trace evidence from the clothes that the girls had been wearing when Desi had rescued them from that cellar.

(Desi strongly suspected that The Monkey King had personally inspected this _shipment of merchandise_ , based on the intel she’d been gathering, so maybe that trace evidence and the analysis that only someone like Mac could provide could give them a lead.)

He was explaining how one of the tests worked to the girls while shaking a test-tube that was slowly changing colour, with all of his usual Bill-Nye-the-Science-guy earnest enthusiasm in his terribly-accented Vietnamese.

The girls looked almost at ease, and there were more giggles and smiles than Desi had ever seen from them.

(Bozer liked to say that his homeboy had superpowers. He was probably mostly referring to the crazy things his crazy brain could spit out and somehow save the day, but for Desi’s money, Mac’s weird awkward earnestness that somehow put so many at ease and won trust so readily was more of one.)

Desi smiled, her arms crossed loosely, and after a moment of watching, pushed off the wall she was leaning on and headed to the stove to start plating up breakfast.

* * *

Several hours later, Mac and Desi were bent over her laptop and a map on the kitchen table, inferring what they could from the seeds and dirt and pollen that Mac had detected on the girls’ clothing. The girls themselves were taste-testing the abundance of American chocolate bars that’d been packed into the medical kit that Mac and Jack had brought with them.

(The fact that there were _so many_ chocolate bars, and how much had been put into the small-ish bag, had Beth’s fingerprints all over it. She was _really_ good at packing and a firm believer in the importance of kindness, warmth and sympathy.)

Jack strode out of the jail cell/interrogation room, slamming the door behind him and locking it. His knuckles were bloody, and when he caught Mac’s glance at his hands, he shook his head.

‘Ain’t my blood.’ He looked at the map that was on the table, eyeing the areas that had red circles around them. A moment later, Jack jabbed a finger at one of them, centred around a village twenty miles away. ‘There. Last place that Monkey King was, according to those SOBs.’

* * *

As night fell, Mac and Desi headed out for that village, disguised as a backpacker couple, leaving Jack to protect the girls.

Who were all eyeing him a little warily.

(His boy had some kind of magic, some kind of superpower. Jack didn’t.)

He couldn’t stand the way they were looking at him, so after some thought, he fired off a text, then grabbed Desi’s laptop and pulled up her Skype account. He got a reply to his text, and with a smile, called one of Desi’s contacts.

He sat down at the table, and turned the laptop to face the gaggle of girls. On-screen, Riley smiled and waved at them.

‘This is my little girl who ain’t so little anymore, Riley.’ He grinned, and pointed at one of the girls, one who seemed particularly observant and had been particularly dedicated to watching him like a hawk. ‘You remind me of her a little, actually…Riles, you wanna tell ‘em ‘bout the Great Skeeball Heist, or am I doing it?’

Riley snorted, crossing her arms.

‘I’d better do it, old man, since the last time you told it, there were three separate pointless detours-‘

‘Hey, that grizzly bear story wasn’t pointless, you young ‘uns just don’t appreciate the subtlety!’

Jack smiled to himself as the girls noticeably relaxed, and a couple of the braver ones even started chatting with the young hacker in halting English.

* * *

**THE MONKEY KING’S LAST KNOWN LOCATION**

**ANOTHER SMALL VILLAGE**

**LAO CAI PROVINCE**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

As he and Desi crouched on the roof of the traffickers’ base, Mac prepared to cut a hole in the roof for him and Desi to drop in on them through and noticed something as he did.

Desi had her weapon in hand, checking the magazine.

That wasn’t all that unusual.

It was the fact that she didn’t put it back in its holster after the check, but held it at the ready as he prepared to make the cut.

And there was something cold and furious and _vicious_ in her eyes, in that hint of a smirk on her lips. Leashed tightly, controlled (because Desi was never anything but), but definitely there.

He’d seen that once before, the day they’d first met. She didn’t like to use a gun if she could avoid it, but she made an exception for those who hurt animals.

Desi noticed him looking, and gave a single nod, like she could guess what he was thinking.

‘New exception.’

Her voice was terse, that leashed cold fury and viciousness in it too. She also didn’t seem to want to talk any more, and he got the sense that this mission had touched a nerve in her, that this wasn’t just about taking down some seriously amoral bad guys, who were arguably in many ways worse than the usual.

This was, somehow, for some reason, personal.

But, Desi only ever shared on her own terms, and she definitely wasn’t in a sharing mood at the moment. Besides, it wasn’t the time.

So, in reply, Mac just started cutting a hole in the roof.

* * *

**TWO MINUTES LATER**

* * *

The four local men in the house were all unconscious or clutching at incapacitating (but non-fatal) bullet injuries.

There was a young woman, no older than twenty or twenty-one, in the middle of the room, wide-eyed and terrified, clutching her torn shirt closed.

And a fifth man, likely a Chinese Triad member from his tattoos, was flat on his back on the floor, still clutching a piece of the girl’s shirt, Desi standing over him, her gun pointed at his head, finger on the trigger.

There was a lot of anger in her eyes.

In fact, Mac didn’t think he’d ever seen something like that in her eyes. Desi _was_ vicious and ferocious in a fight, but she’d always, always, always been in control. She was an intelligent agent, who always planned, generally stuck to the playbook and (for a secret agent with a hero complex anyway) didn’t act rashly.

For a moment, he genuinely thought she’d shoot the man, helpless and point-blank, depriving them of a valuable intel source.

Mac spoke, pitching his voice low, gesturing with his head towards a locked room, from which he heard muffled pounding on the door and pleas for help in Vietnamese.

‘Desi…’

She snapped out of it instantly, showing no sign of it except in her expression, not even a twitch of her head.

Desi shot the Triad man one last look of sheer disgust and rage, then brought the butt of her gun down on his head, far harder than necessary, and did nothing to ease his collapse onto the hard concrete floor.

She glanced at Mac, gestured with her head towards the locked door, seemingly all business, but he was quite sure he saw a _thank you_ in her eyes, too. Desi then turned to the girl who was still clutching her shirt like armour, started speaking words of reassurance in Vietnamese, introducing herself and Mac, all the while unbuttoning her own shirt, leaving her in just a tank-top, passing it to the girl.

Mac got the door unlocked, revealing two girls, one fifteen or sixteen, another that he was sure was only nine or ten, which made bile rise in his throat. They bore a strong resemblance to each other, and the girl now wearing Desi’s shirt. Desi looked up from where she was securing their prisoners, addressing the oldest girl.

‘Your sisters?’ She just nodded in response. Mac and Desi exchanged a glance, the blonde swallowing as his brain threw up the most likely explanation, surely, for the sisters’ circumstances. ‘Your parents, family?’

The oldest sister shook her head sadly, resignedly, wrapping a protective arm around her youngest sister.

The Phoenix agents exchanged another glance. They knew full well that they couldn’t just leave the girls here, vulnerable as they were, and with what they’d just been through, but they also needed to take their prisoners back to Desi’s safehouse, and there were more of those than they’d counted on too.

Eventually, Mac gave a little smirk, remembering the old truck that’d been parked a couple of blocks back, the abandoned broken cart they’d passed just down the street, the elderly donkey tied to the fence just outside that’d nearly given them away with a bray.

‘Give me five minutes.’

Desi smirked back teasingly, rolling her eyes.

‘Do it in four, Bill Nye, I dare you.’ Mac grinned back at her and took off at a sprint, and Desi returned to tying up the baddies with their own shoelaces and belts, giving the confused sisters a wry smile. ‘You start getting used to him after a while.’

* * *

**DESI’S SAFEHOUSE**

**A SMALL VILLAGE**

**LAO CAI PROVINCE**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

As Mac and Desi arrived back at the safehouse, Desi driving a truck with three more rescued locals in it, Mac driving, of all things, a _donkey-pulled cart,_ with five prisoners bundled into it, Jack pursed his lips in concern as he watched the Vietnamese-American agent as she introduced the three sisters to the other girls and to him, and then helped Mac unload their prisoners, none too gently, something burning and _angry_ in her eyes, a little wild, a little uncontrolled, which for Desi, was a lot. A hell of a lot.

He had only ever seen her like this once before, and that…that had been a long time ago, when she’d been young and green and…well, to put it nicely, had just gone through something terrible.

He sighed internally.

No-one had ever told him that being the Obi-Wan Kenobi to a bunch of young ones was going to be so much worry.

(Still, he wouldn’t change it for the world.)

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…okay, come on, there’s gotta be something, there’s always _something_ …’

Bozer muttered to himself as he and Riley remotely accessed the mobile phones of the grunts in the human trafficking operation that Mac and Desi had captured, as well as their Triad friend. Jack, Desi and Mac’s interrogations, plus what information they’d gotten from the freed sisters, hadn’t turned up anything, aside from a confirmation that The Monkey King had been there, was indeed a man and concealed his identity with a mask of his namesake.

Thus, he and Riley had been tasked with gleaning whatever intel they could from their phones.

Unfortunately, it was a task made much more difficult by the fact that rural northern Vietnam wasn’t exactly a hotspot for credit cards or Afterpay. There wasn’t much by way of a money trail.

Just as he groaned as he hit another dead end, Riley made a triumphant noise on the opposite end of the war room.

‘Got something.’ Her fingernails clacked on her keyboard, and a Google Maps search appeared on one side of the big screen, next to Mac, Jack and Desi’s faces. ‘One of the goons searched up directions from that house to a town just over the Chinese border, about half an hour before your estimated departure time for The Monkey King.’

Bozer gave a slightly ridiculous grin, raising a shoulder.

‘Somebody had to play chauffeur for the big-boss?’

Mac, Jack and Desi exchanged a glance, all looking very determined. Bozer and Riley caught that anger in Desi’s eyes too, and Bozer glanced at Riley, who rolled her eyes internally.

(She loved the boys, but they were _not_ subtle.)

Jack cracked his knuckles.

‘Well, looks like we’re taking a little trip to China. Riles, get us clearance from the boss lady, eh?’

The Texan then hung up immediately, and Riley groused under her breath.

Trust Jack to leave it to her to tell Matty that they were possibly going to cause an international incident.

* * *

**A VERY DODGY WAREHOUSE IN A VERY DODGY AREA**

**JUST ACROSS THE CHINESE-VIETNAMESE BORDER**

**CHINA**

* * *

Desi, a gun in each hand, one hers, one stolen, breathed hard, standing in the middle of a rough circle of downed traffickers, looking for all the world like she would shoot any of them if they twitched the wrong way.

Jack, who had his own gun pointed at The Monkey King’s lieutenant who’d been running the show at the warehouse, didn’t miss that look on her face.

He brought the butt of his gun down on the head of the piece of scum in front of him, tied him up with his own belt, and did his best to push the photos that adorned the warehouse’s office’s walls from his mind.

(There were no girls here, no victims to be saved – they’d been too late for some, too early for others – but the photos, the _trophies,_ that this lieutenant liked to keep were plenty sickening.)

Jack crossed his arms, strode over to the younger agent, his voice light and conversational, but at the same time, very much not, very much serious and worried and comforting, all at once.

‘I haven’t see you like this since-‘

Desi cut him off, her voice terse, almost snappy.

‘These guys are the lowest of the low, Jack.’

He put his hands up.

‘Yeah, ain’t disagreeing with that, Dez, or disagreeing with how you’re dealing with ‘em.’ He prodded one whose breathing was rather laboured with the toe of his boot, kicking him onto his side in an approximate recovery position. ‘But you’ve dealt with heaps of those, and you ain’t been like this.’ She still had two guns drawn, for God’s sake. ‘This is you getting all personal.’

* * *

Internally, Desi sighed.

She was not really a talk-about-your-feelings person.

(Unlike some of the people she worked with.)

She was _definitely_ not a talk-about-your-feelings person when she wasn’t the one initiating it.

But Jack was _Jack._

He’d been there (he’d been there _for her_ ) when…

She blocked that off. She wasn’t thinking about that. She rarely did, and definitely, definitely not now, not on this mission.

So, she took a deep breath, and with one last glance to make sure that all the traffickers were still out of it, stowed her own weapon, keeping hold of the stolen one, gesturing with a flick of her head at the office with all of its horrible, disturbing photos that she really, really wanted to burn.

(She wouldn’t. They were important evidence, would help ensure that these lowlifes were put away for a long, long time and couldn’t hurt anyone else.)

‘It could have been me.’ She swallowed, looking into the middle distance for a long beat, then back at Jack. ‘My family was very poor. If my parents hadn’t left in a desperate attempt to get us a better life, if the Good Ol’ US of A hadn’t opened its doors…’

She would’ve been a poor, desperate girl, made vulnerable by her desire, need, to escape her impoverished, dead-end life.

Just like all the girls they’d rescued, the girls she’d been trying to save for months.

Jack nodded in understanding, reached out and put an arm around her shoulders, squeezing them comfortingly.

‘You wanna take first crack at ‘em in interrogation?’ He gestured with his chin at the weakly-stirring members of The Monkey King’s gang. ‘I’ll even let you play bad cop!’

Desi smiled, soft and fond and gentle and, to Jack, clearly grateful.

‘I’m holding you to that, Dalton.’

* * *

**DESI’S SAFEHOUSE**

**A SMALL VILLAGE**

**LAO CAI PROVINCE**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

‘I don’t know who he is! I swear! He always wears that mask, never uses his real name-‘

‘And you’ve worked for him, what, nearly ten years?’ Desi looked coldly at the man tied to a chair in front of him, The Monkey King’s lieutenant. ‘You expect me to believe that you didn’t hear any rumours, didn’t learn something you weren’t supposed to?’ She snorted. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

Jack, leaning against the door, glanced conversationally at the man in the chair.

‘I wouldn’t answer that if I were you, brother. It’s a trap.’ He paused. ‘Best just to answer her questions, I’ll make sure she don’t rough you up too bad-‘

Desi, in response, just smiled sweetly at The Monkey King’s lieutenant, in that way she did that wasn’t completely genuine and looked slightly _off._

He gulped.

‘I’m not supposed to know this, but…he comes from China, just across the border. He was born in the Year of the Goat, and his surname is Huang…that’s all I know, I swear!’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…Huang Da-Wei, Chinese national, known Triad associate…’ Riley looked triumphant. ‘…and just landed in a helicopter at his private villa in the peaceful northern hills of Vietnam.’ She typed quickly. ‘Sending you the address now.’

Matty hung up her phone on the other side of the war room, and looked up at the big screen, addressing Mac, Jack and Desi.

‘A tac-team, courtesy of the Vietnamese government, will meet you at a rendezvous point half an hour’s hike from Huang’s villa.’

Bozer’s head appeared around the war room door.

‘US Navy’s sending a chopper up from Singapore for you guys.’

Matty nodded once in acknowledgement, then looked up at her field agents.

‘Get him.’

She got three sharp nods and a salute in return.

* * *

**DESI’S SAFEHOUSE**

**A SMALL VILLAGE**

**LAO CAI**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

Mac made a noise of satisfaction, and jumped down from the chair he was standing on, landing lightly and holding out a rope to the nearest girl, explaining in Vietnamese what to do.

‘If you hear or see…’ He gestured at the elaborate system of mirrors he’d rigged up that’d let the girls see any approach to the house from every side. ‘…someone you don’t know trying to get in or knocking on the door, just pull that rope.’ He gave a little smirk. ‘They, uh, will be stopped in their tracks. Literally.’

On the other side of the room, Jack was teaching a few of the girls how to properly wield frying pans and saucepans and a broken-off chair leg, while Desi helped a couple others decant some homemade pepper spray courtesy of Mac’s recipe into various spray bottles.

* * *

Before she, Jack and Mac headed out to rendezvous with the chopper that’d fly them to Huang’s, Desi gathered the girls around, Mac and Jack stepping away a little.

She looked around at all of them, at the defences they’d rigged up, at the frying pan still in Trang’s hands.

And she smiled.

‘Remember, you’re tough. Like a boss.’

That got smiles back, mostly shy or a little hesitant, but smiles anyway.

* * *

**HUANG’S VILLA**

**LAO CAI PROVINCE**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

Desi had Huang backed into a corner, held at gunpoint. The scumbag looked terrified.

She smirked in satisfaction at that, the sounds of Mac, Jack and the tac-team taking out his guards barely registering.

Her fingers tightened on the trigger, barrel of the gun aimed perfectly between his eyes.

Coward that he was, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

Then, at the last moment, Desi took one step forward, and kicked him in the face. As hard as she could.

Her booted foot struck him in the chin and nose with a sickening crunch on the way up, then thumped him hard on the forehead on the way down, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious, but breathing, his nose clearly broken.

Desi stowed her weapon, and leaned down, hauling him up so he wouldn’t drown in his own blood, spoke in a low voice with a savagely satisfied little smirk on her face.

‘You’re not worth it. But we are going to get every last bit of information out of your head, and then you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a concrete box.’

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**ON THE TARMAC**

**VIETNAM**

* * *

‘…the Phoenix is already reaching out to a local NGO, to protect the girls you rescued, and The Monkey King’s other victims. We’re going to make sure that no-one can replace him.’

Mac, Jack and Desi all smiled and nodded as Matty relayed the news to them over Mac’s phone. Jack raised his bottle of water in a toast.

‘I’ll drink to that, Matty. I’ll drink to that.’

* * *

As their boss hung up, Mac turned to Desi.

‘What was it like, coming to Vietnam?’

Desi glanced out the window, staring into the middle distance for a moment, then smiled and turned back at Mac.

‘It’s been an experience.’ She put her feet up on the seat opposite hers. ‘I did some good, the food was excellent…’ Her expression turned wry. ‘Except for the lack of spicy ranch…’ She smiled again, soft and broad. ‘But I can’t wait to go home.’

Mac and Jack smiled too.

‘It’ll be great to have you back.’

‘We missed you, sister.’

* * *

**TURKEY DAY**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

‘…come on, you don’t get it?’

Mac, his chuckles dying off but still grinning, glanced around at Bozer, Riley, Leanna, Desi, Matty and his dad, who were all staring at his phone. On it was a photo of Beth, who’d gone home to the Mid-West to spend Thanksgiving with her parents, that she’d posted to the group chat. In it, she was eating a giant piece of pumpkin pie and wearing a T-shirt with a picture of the amino acid tryptophan on it. The molecule had a comb, a feather tail, feet and a Pilgrim hat on, so looked vaguely like a very odd turkey.

He got five head-shakes and arched eyebrows.

‘Nope.’

‘Nup.’

‘It doesn’t even look like a turkey!’

‘We don’t speak advanced abstract dorkery, Mac.’

Meanwhile, James MacGyver shook his head in a way that could only be described as fondly exasperated.

‘That shirt is ridiculous.’ He paused, and arched a brow at Mac. ‘Besides, it’s a myth that the tryptophan content of turkey causes sleepiness after consuming a turkey dinner.’

Mac looked sheepish, but raised a shoulder anyway, like he was saying, _true, but it’s a common misconception, so it’s still funny._

* * *

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, where they had been allowed after Diane had passed Bozer’s vigorous kitchen access test (though they weren’t allowed to touch the stove), Jack wrapped an arm around his lady’s waist as she cut up the various pies for dessert. There was an apple pie that Mac and Jim had made, trying to reconstruct Ellen MacGyver’s recipe, a pumpkin pie that Beth had dropped off before she’d flown out for Indiana, a sweet potato pie made by Bozer, and a pecan pie that Desi had brought from a bakery as her contribution.

Diane slapped his hand away when he tried to steal one of the pecans, then made up for it by kissing his cheek…and Jack took advantage of the distraction to steal a pecan, earning a _look._ He grinned and leaned over to kiss her lightly to say he was sorry (not that he _really_ was) and Diane smiled and shook her head at him, the expression full of affection.

* * *

A little later, Mac stepped away from his laptop at his dining table, ducking out onto the deck to join everyone else to leave Bozer and Leanna a little privacy with his family, whom they were Skyping.

They’d Skyped the Bozers, and Dalton’s Heroes briefly in turn. Jack had called his sister, Mac the Penas and Riley Elwood, all of them passing on greetings and messages. Jack had even chatted briefly with Elwood, while Mac had managed to glean another embarrassing story about Jack’s antics as a boy.

He glanced at Desi, who’d cut her hair back into the bob she favoured and was sipping a glass of wine, leaning against the railing.

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the dining room with his head.

‘Have we got another call to make, once Boze and Leanna finish off with his family?’

Once upon a time, he’d probably have been really hesitant to ask her something like that, and it would have been really, really awkward.

Somehow, it wasn’t really, didn’t feel loaded and confusing.

Desi was silent for a moment, and Mac was _just_ starting to think that maybe he’d misinterpreted things and that it should have felt awkward and weird and he was just not noticing and that maybe that was why everyone had fallen silent and were all looking at Desi, when she replied.

‘I’m, uh, estranged from my family.’ Desi pitched that loud enough for everyone to hear, with her typical bluntness. She raised a shoulder. ‘My brother and I are in touch, he keeps me updated, but I haven’t really spoken to my parents in years.’ Desi paused, then forded on, blunt as ever. ‘They don’t approve of the way I live my life.’

Desi’s brother was family doctor with a Vietnamese-American wife and two adorable children, living in a very nice suburb of Grand Rapids, not too far from her parents. He’d been Valedictorian of their high school, studying hard when he wasn’t helping out in their family’s little convenience store, and had gone to a big-name out-of-state college on scholarship.

In her parents’ eyes, he was the perfect child, fulfilling every dream they’d had for their children, every hope, every wish, everything that they’d sacrificed so, so, so much for.

Desi on the other hand…they’d signed her up for the martial arts program provided by a local community group for disadvantaged and refugee children in an attempt to teach her discipline. That’d worked, but it had also backfired, as she spent more and more time training and sparring and learning yet another martial art, rather than focusing on her studies. When she’d turned eighteen and gotten her first tattoo, she’d nearly been kicked out of home. When she hadn’t gotten into college and instead enlisted in the Army instead of working in the family store, working her ass off at community college and trying to transfer to a good, four-year school so she could get a good, stable, real job with the absolute minimum risk of dying at work, there’d been a very, very, very big fight.

Over the years, it’d become clearer and clearer that her parents did not understand how she liked to live her life, nor did they approve (adrenaline junkie, military woman through and through, lover of tattoos, fond of spending her few holidays surfing the biggest waves she could find, not keen on settling down with a nice Vietnamese-American boy and having kids in suburban Michigan).

And it’d become easier and easier to just stop talking to them, to not have to deal with their disapproval and their confusion and their earnest but truly misguided attempts to ‘help her get her life back on track’.

Her brother kept her up-to-date, and if anything bad really did happen to her parents, if one of them were, say, battling the Big C, she’d drop everything and go home and help however she could (they were her parents and they did love her and she did love them and they’d given up so much for her and her brother…), but it was just easier to minimize contact with them.

They didn’t understand, and they never would.

There was silence for a moment, before Riley broke it, shrugging, and pouring Desi a refill for her wine.

‘Then it’s their loss.’

Jack grinned at her, offering her some candied nuts that Bozer had made. Desi grabbed a few and tossed them into her mouth, a little uncomfortable with all the attention on her. Jack seemed to sense that, and did what he did best: drew attention to himself.

‘Hey, you’re always welcome here, Mac’s casa es su casa and all.’

He crammed an entire handful of nuts into his mouth as he spoke, earning disgusted looks all round.

* * *

A little later, Desi was leaning on the railing again, her wine glass almost empty, when Mac walked over, resting his elbows on the railing next to her and staring out at the LA skyline.

The silence stretched on, until Desi turned her head and arched an eyebrow at him.

‘You gonna spit it out?’

Mac ducked his head, looking sheepish and a little awkward, before raising a shoulder, looking very earnest.

‘Well, I was just thinking, and I wanted you to know…’ He gestured with a hand towards his dad, who was talking to Matty, Jack and Diane on the far side of the fire-pit. ‘…that maybe you don’t have to _understand_ someone completely to rebuild your relationship with them. You just have to try and respect your differences and forgive each other a little.’ He paused again. ‘And remember that no matter what, at the end of the day, you love each other, you’re family, and that’s what’s most important.’

Desi didn’t say anything in response, but she did stare at him for a beat and give a little nod, before returning to staring at the skyline.

Mac went back inside to help Bozer pack up the leftovers, the sounds of the best friends teasing one another and having a food-fight with leftover mashed potatoes drifting out onto the deck, along with Riley and Leanna protesting, then apparently joining in.

Meanwhile, Desi kept thinking.

* * *

**DESI’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

The day after Thanksgiving, while she heated up a box of leftovers that Bozer had given her (most insistently) for dinner in the microwave, Desi toyed with her phone, before finally pulling up a relatively little-used contact and typing out a message.

_Hey, big bro. When are you and Annie and the kids going to Mom and Dad’s for dinner again? If work allows, maybe I could Skype the whole family?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I hope you guys enjoyed Desi’s return and how I’ve portrayed her new relationship with Mac! I know we’re not going to get it, but I’d really love an exploration of Desi and Jack’s relationship and how they met and how Desi owes Jack, so I’ve hinted at that here…and you will get to see it in a later episode, don’t you worry! Being Asian-Australian, I’m also keen on seeing more about Desi’s identity as a Vietnamese-American. I’ve based her experiences and familial relationships and feelings about Vietnam on a mixture of my own experiences/feelings, those of my friends and articles I’ve read online by Asian-Australians or Asian-Americans. 
> 
> There is no episode tag for this ep, but here’s the press release for the next one:
> 
> 4.10, Love/Heartbreak. Mac, Jack and Desi head to the City of Love to catch an arms dealer. Meanwhile, Bozer and Leanna’s relationship might be on the rocks.
> 
> See you in two weeks, hopefully!


	10. Love/Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac, Jack and Desi head to the City of Love to catch an arms dealer. Meanwhile, Bozer and Leanna’s relationship might be on the rocks.

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…All I’m saying, man, is that sometimes, you gotta let the Wookie win.’

Jack pointed sagely at Mac as the two of them walked into work, answering Matty’s summons. The blonde made an incredulous, exasperated gesture, his expression matching.

‘A, this situation is not even a correct application of that concept, and B-‘

Whatever B was, Mac didn’t get a chance to say it, because Beth walked out of the elevator, presumably having come up from the infirmary, saw Jack, and immediately bustled over and started talking to him.

‘Jack, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, I sent you five texts…’ She trailed off as she noticed the phone in Jack’s hand, brow furrowing, thinking out-loud. ‘Well, at the very least, you can’t have missed my last message because Mac commandeered your phone again…’

Mac had the good grace to give her a sheepish little smile, rubbing the back of his neck, before shooting his partner a _look._

He had a sneaking suspicion that this had to do with the mandatory six-monthly physicals he and Jack had had last week.

Jack steadfastly ignored him, which only made Mac more suspicious, of course.

‘Umm…uh…he did use it for a little something-something yesterday.’ He turned from the doctor to Mac. ‘Brother, you do something to it that could’ve messed with my reception or deleted my messages or something?’ He turned back to Beth. ‘’Cause I haven’t got anything from you, Lil’ Doc.’

Mac shot Jack another _look._ Beth raised her brows very sceptically, clearly not believing Jack’s excuses, and narrowed her eyes at him.

(Mac hid a smirk.)

_Yeah…I admit I’m looking forward to this._

_A, it’s nice to be on the other side._

_B, schadenfreude. I’m only human._

_And C, since when have I not loved getting one up on Jack?_

Jack, meanwhile, just gestured towards the war room.

‘Hey, it was nice seeing you and all, Lil’ Doc, great chat, but me and Mac gotta go, can’t keep Matty waiting…’

And with that, Jack headed onwards to the war room, barely not running, which made Mac snort.

Jack ran towards danger in the field, but apparently, he ran away from a 5’2’’ doctor. A fiercely determined 5’2’’ doctor, but still.

_Then again, I can’t exactly blame him._

_I’m man enough to admit that._

_Take it from me, Beth’s wrath is terrifying._

He glanced over at her, took in the wry, exasperated and slightly concerned, all at once, smile on her face.

‘I’ll make sure he comes to see you.’

Beth’s smile softened and widened a touch.

‘Thanks, Mac.’

He smiled back, then turned and started to jog towards the war room.

Matty would _not_ be happy if she judged him to be late.

_You know, I don’t reckon it’s true, but there’s probably enough evidence in my life to suggest that in women, scariness is inversely proportional to size._

* * *

‘…you’re late, boys.’

Desi was already sitting in an armchair in the war room, her feet up on the coffee table, when Jack, followed moments later by Mac, strode in, and gave a little teasing smirk as she looked up at them.

Matty, however, wasn’t there, which made Jack grin.

‘Nah, Dez, we’re ear-’ The war room door opened, and in strode Matty, her tablet in hand. ‘…we’re just in time.’

Matty quirked an eyebrow at Jack, as if daring him to comment further on her ‘lateness’. Wisely, Jack just shut up, and Mac and Desi exchanged an amused glance as the blonde grabbed a paperclip from the bowl.

* * *

Matty tapped her tablet, and a photograph of an extremely handsome, grey-haired man in a very smart black wool coat and a dark-green scarf appeared.

Desi leaned back a little in her seat and gave the man an appraising once-over.

‘Who’s the silver fox?’

Matty tapped her tablet again, and a ‘wanted’ notice from Interpol appeared.

‘Cedric Boucher, French-Canadian arms dealer.’ She tapped the tablet again, and a list of Boucher’s known customers appeared, including several hostile regimes, a handful of terrorist organisations and many, many crime syndicates. ‘He’s been evading capture for the last decade. Law enforcement hasn’t had eyes on him for nearly five years.’

Mac raised an eyebrow, fingers rapidly re-shaping the paperclip he was holding.

‘Until now?’

Matty nodded.

‘Until now.’ A photo of the Paris skyline, the Eiffel Tower prominent, appeared on screen. ‘He’s been spotted in Paris; you’re wheels up in thirty.’

Jack grinned and rubbed his hands together.

‘City of Love and Croissants, here we come!’

Croissants was said with perfect French pronunciation, of course.

Desi shot Mac a teasing little smirk, removing her feet from the coffee table in a single easy motion.

‘Don’t forget the silly string.’

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck a little sheepishly.

_It was one of my weirder ideas. And one of the, uh, less appropriate ones…but hey, it did work._

_Well, sort of._

_Next time, I’ll lead with the silly string._

* * *

Meanwhile, down in the lab, sitting next to Sparky who was busy downloading medical knowledge (Beth had picked out everything that she thought he would need to know, plus a lot of extra information – excitedly and gleefully like a kid in a candy store – since Sparky had some serious memory, thanks to Riley’s mods), Riley focused on a new program she was writing for the Phoenix.

There was a bug in it _somewhere,_ she just couldn’t find it…

She sighed, rubbing the side of her head for a moment, and was interrupted by her phone chiming. She read the text from Matty, giving a little smile at the request she look into the Dark Web for the Edwards team, who were currently pursuing a Serbian war criminal through Argentina.

No one could ever say that Matty the Hun only saw her agents as assets, not as people. Far from it.

(She was so, so glad that she wasn’t going to Paris. She’d gotten the job done that day, because she had to, and she knew, deep down, that if the job called upon it again, she could do it again. Put aside her heartbreak and her pain, and focus and knuckle down and get it done.)

(But she was so, so glad that she _didn’t_ have to do it.)

Riley took a deep breath, put aside the buggy program, and started digging. _Someone_ had paid that hitman to take out the war criminal; she just had to work out who.

* * *

On the other side of the lab, Bozer was working on a prosthesis for an agent who was wheels-up in five hours, while Leanna sat on the other side of the table, opposite him, typing on her laptop.

The two of them were conspicuously silent, no terms of endearment or playing footsie under the table.

In fact, there was tension in the air.

(Riley had noticed, of course, but she was ignoring it. She wasn’t getting into the middle of that; Bozer and Leanna were both her very close friends.)

Eventually, Bozer broke the silence between them.

‘Leanna…baby…what if I just come the day after Christmas, or Christmas Eve?’ He smiled winningly, and a little desperately, longingly. ‘I’ll bring my famous chocolate gingerbread pie!’

Leanna stared at her boyfriend across the table for a moment, looking distinctly uncomfortable, before packing up her laptop, not quite meeting his eyes.

‘Sorry, Bozer, I…’ She swallowed. ‘I’ll think about it, and I’ll talk to my mom, and…’ Well, it wasn’t an no, but it really did feel like one. Leanna finally looked up at him, her laptop tucked under her arm. ‘I’ve got to finish this report, and I need to concentrate, and…’ She took a deep breath. ‘We’ll talk later?’

Leanna waited for him to nod, looked very guilty at the sad, kicked-puppy look that Bozer couldn’t hide, and bustled out of the lab.

He sighed and forced himself to concentrate on the prosthesis in front of him again.

* * *

Bozer finished the prosthesis, and placed it carefully in a box, then walked on autopilot down the Phoenix’s hallways to deliver it.

When he returned to the lab, he stared at his kit, slumped down in his chair.

There was stuff he could be doing (namely, catching up on paperwork – he had not realized there was so much paperwork in the spy life, but had quickly been set to rights), but he simply really didn’t want to.

Bozer sighed.

Then he sighed again dramatically.

The second sigh made Riley look up from her laptop and arch an eyebrow at him, and Bozer had the good grace to look sheepish, before his expression grew serious and he finally spoke.

‘I know you’re friends with both me and Leanna, but I really need to talk to someone about this, and…well, my options are kinda limited, and I don’t really wanna chat with Cal from Cartography ‘bout me and my honeybun, so…’

Riley, after a moment, gestured for him to go on.

(Bozer was her friend. So was Leanna. She wasn’t going to get in the middle of it, and she had her loyalties and friendships to both to consider, which meant that Bozer wasn’t going to hear what Leanna had shared at girls’ night with Desi and Beth last week, and Leanna wasn’t going to hear what was currently bothering Bozer. At least, not from her. They were her friends, so of course she was rooting for them, and what kind of friend would she be if she didn’t give them advice to the best of her ability?)

Bozer sighed, and picked up one of his brushes and started fiddling with it.

(He clearly spent too much time with Mac.)

‘I asked Leanna to come to Mission City with me for Christmas.’ Bozer didn’t usually go home for the holidays, since he spent them with Mac and their adopted family (which the Bozers got, having seen little Angus MacGyver grow up, motherless and fatherless and near-friendless), but he made time to go see them between Christmas and New Year’s, sometimes spending New Year’s back in his childhood home. He smiled, broad and full of affection, tinged with a note of sadness. ‘I wanted her to meet my family, and I wanted them to meet her, but…’ Bozer sighed, raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘She wanted to go see her family for Christmas. And I thought, okay, that’s fine, that’s great, I’ll come along too, but…’ He looked down, then looked up at Riley, looking terribly guilty, like he was ashamed for the direction his thoughts had gone. ‘…I dunno, she said Christmas is a really, you know, strict family affair for her family, but it kinda felt like…’ He swallowed, looking down at the floor again, then up at Riley, that guilt and shame even more obvious. ‘…like she didn’t want me to meet them.’ Bozer sighed. ‘And…that got me thinking, it’s like when I wanted us to move in together, but she wasn’t ready…maybe…maybe we’re not on the same page, and if we aren’t…’ He swallowed. ‘I don’t wanna lose her, Riley.’

Riley spread her palms, looked Bozer straight in the eye.

‘She loves you, Boze. And you love her.’ Bozer nodded vehemently in agreement at that. Riley lifted a shoulder. ‘Maybe her family is like that, but if you wanna find out, _go talk to her_ , not me.’

Quite deliberately, Riley went back to her work, and Bozer grinned slowly. Riley had given him similar advice when Leanna had decided that she didn’t want to move in with him after all, and after talking it over with Leanna, they’d managed to resolve that really painful knot in his stomach.

‘Thanks, lil’ sis.’

Riley rolled her eyes at the nickname, but looked up and smiled at him anyway.

‘Anytime, Beast Boy.’

* * *

**A FANCY HOTEL SUITE**

**(MAMA COLTON KNOWS A GUY AND OWES MATTY ONE, SO…)**

**PARIS**

* * *

Mac straightened his bowtie (a real one, not a clip-on one – the real ones were way more useful), tucked his Swiss Army knife into the pocket of his tux, and grabbed a couple of paperclips from the box that’d been in his go-bag and slipped them into his pockets too.

He went over and looked out over the Paris skyline, shaking his head with a little grin. His thoughts were interrupted by a wry, teasing voice behind him.

‘We’ll always have Paris, right, Mac?’

He chuckled, nodded and turned to find Desi wearing an evening gown, holding her heels in her left hand…and a small can of silly string in her right, which she tossed at him. Mac caught it reflexively, then shot her a questioning look.

‘Where-‘

(She’d had fifteen minutes at the Phoenix to grab her go-bag and gear up, and the three of them had not left each other’s sights aside from to dress in this hotel room since arriving in Paris. Desi was good, but even Mac knew that some things really were impossible; ducking out to go buy some silly string was.)

‘-I asked Lil’ Doc.’ Desi looked pointedly at him, crossing her arms. ‘She understands being _organized_ and _prepared._ ’

_I really don’t understand why everyone calls me a Boy Scout._

_I was a terrible Boy Scout. Got kicked out after six months, plus banned from being involved in any and all Boy Scout events for life, and wasn’t all that good with their motto, since improvisation is mine._

Mac wasn’t all that sure exactly what _Beth_ was doing with a can of silly string (or, knowing her, multiple cans), but given the conversation they and his dad had had at lunch last week, it didn’t exactly surprise him that she might be doing some experiments, or adding it to med-kits for his missions.

Mac smiled and shook his head at Desi’s dig at him, pocketing the mini can of silly string, since it did have sixteen off-label uses, after all.

He and Desi looked out at the skyline for a moment, before Mac broke the silence, face scrunched up a little.

‘Seriously, why is it _always_ Paris?’

It was a genuine question.

He and Desi had been to Paris twice in their half-year as partners, and here they were again. Plus, The Ghost had fled here, and Riley had been to Paris for that ill-fated mission with the Coltons. It was a major city, and it did seem that even criminals were into romance, but…still. It was highly improbable.

There were loud steps behind the two of them, as Jack emerged from the bathroom in his tux, his bowtie hanging loose around his neck.

‘You two been to Paris a lot?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Yup.’

Jack turned to his partner, looking put-out.

‘Why don’t we get to do Paris on the regular, man? I gotta have a talk with Matty; you can’t beat the croissants here, and a man’s gotta have his little luxuries…’

Desi and Mac just exchanged a fond, exasperated, amused look behind Jack’s back.

_Jack’s Jack. He’ll never change._

* * *

**A FANCY RESTAURANT**

**PARIS**

* * *

Mac, Jack and Desi got out of the car, and strode up to the discreet-yet-classy entrance of the restaurant.

Jack ducked his head in greeting at the doorman, while Mac and Desi, the latter clutching the former’s arm and wearing a shiny diamond ring on her left ring finger, played the part of a couple far too caught up in one another to pay attention to anything else, Desi laughing at something that Mac whispered in her ear in a way that was clearly fake to Jack’s ears.

The older man shook his head with exasperated affection, and introduced himself in his fluent French to the maitre d’, stating the name his reservation was under, and introducing his son and his son’s fiancée.

The three of them were led to their table, which had, as Matty had arranged, an excellent view of the one and only door to the private room that Boucher had booked for dinner with a business associate.

After they were seated and as the waiter bustled off to fetch the wine list and their menus, Jack leaned over and spoke in a low, complaining voice at Mac and Desi.

‘Seriously, why do we always have to do this one?’ He huffed. ‘I ain’t really old enough to be your dad, son!’

(He, Mac and Riley had done the whole dad-son-fiancee act more than a few times, and it was the second time in as many weeks that he, Mac and Desi had used it.)

Desi arched an eyebrow at Jack and snorted, while Mac smirked.

‘Freudian slip, Jack. Freudian slip.’ He continued before Jack could ask what Freud or freund or fronds had to do with anything, shrugging and smirking wider. ‘It works.’

* * *

Desi stole Mac’s chocolate pot de crème from right under his nose, which he, being a considerate (fake) fiancé, and also being occupied keeping a discreet eye on Cedric Boucher as he left the restaurant, ignored.

Jack, meanwhile, timing it perfectly, finished off his chat with the maitre d’, employing a little sleight-of-hand trick to switch the mint that was resting on a little silver tray with Mac’s, which had had a little modification made to it.

(Namely, the insertion of a very, very small tracking device that was an invention of Mac and Jim’s.)

The maitre d’, Jack noted out of the corner of his eye as he returned to his table, held the silver tray out to Boucher, neither man any the wiser, and Boucher took the mint and popped it into his mouth.

As he sat down again, Mac, Jack and Desi all exchanged a smile, Jack pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Now they’d know exactly where Boucher was…at least until the tracking device passed through his digestive system.

* * *

**THE NEXT MORNING**

**A CAFÉ**

**CHAMPS ELYSEES**

* * *

Mac, Jack and Desi, dressed as tourists, sat in the café, sipping coffee and eating French pastries, keeping an eye on Boucher, who was sitting and reading a newspaper at the café next door.

Jack, wearing an I Heart Paris T-shirt dusted with pastry crumbs, drained his coffee as he apparently scrolled through his phone, eyes really on Boucher. Meanwhile, Mac pretended to read the newspaper and Desi, behind a surfing magazine, reached out and pinched the pain au chocolat on his plate, untouched, next to a half-eaten croissant.

Behind the newspaper, Mac made a noise of complaint. Desi ignored him, and Jack snorted and shot his partner a look.

‘Trust me, brother, let her have it.’ Mac made another noise of protest, muttering something about Jack always eating whatever he wanted out of Mac’s fridge and pantry. ‘Oi, mi casa, su casa, you always say…oh, and by the way, man, you need more hot sauce. And Doritos.’ Mac shot his partner a _look_ , and Jack changed the subject rapidly, gesturing at Desi, who was polishing off what was formerly Mac’s pain au chocolat, and seemingly deliberately ignoring them. ‘Seriously, you should see what she did to the last guy who got between her and chocolate.’

Jack just shook his head as if to say, _not good, brother, not good._

Desi smirked rather smugly, popping the last piece of pastry in her mouth, leaning back in her seat.

‘Don’t get between a girl and her chocolate, and no-one gets hurt. Easy.’

Mac shook his head with a half-snort.

_Unlike 95% of Jack’s stories, I believe that one._

_A, no shark-punching, or non-existent creatures or gratuitous Star Wars references._

_B, well, Desi really does like her chocolate…and she is Desi._

‘…headlock till he dropped was a bit much, Dez, and did you really have to hit him where it hurt?’

Jack winced in sympathy as he spoke those words. Desi looked unmoved, looking up briefly from her surfing magazine.

‘He deserved it.’ She gave a wry half-smirk at Mac, who was mentally reminding himself to not steal anything from Desi’s chocolate stash, ever, no matter what. She looked very much like she knew exactly what he was thinking. ‘It was the _good_ stuff.’

* * *

**TWO HOURS LATER**

**MONTMARTRE**

**PARIS**

* * *

‘…come on, kids, we gotta take a selfie!’

Jack held out the selfie-stick, and Mac, playing the part of an exasperated Millennial, pulled it over slightly to adjust it to the perfect angle to capture himself, Jack, Desi, the basilica behind them…and Boucher.

Meanwhile, Desi rolled her eyes and spoke in deadpan.

‘Cheese.’

* * *

**AN HOUR AFTER THAT**

* * *

‘…mmm, this is the good stuff!’ Onto a piece of bread, Jack spread a very generous quantity of the soft, creamy cheese that they’d purchased for a spontaneous picnic while following Boucher through a series of delis and grocers (the man seemed to be grocery shopping, which was kinda outrageous for an arms dealer on the run, but he _was_ a known foodie on business in Paris). Boucher himself was sitting on a park bench, staking out a trash can that he’d dead-dropped a small parcel into. ‘Seriously, brother…’ Jack elbowed Mac in the ribs, none-too-gently, as Mac helped himself to some charcuterie. ‘…why didn’t we get more of the Paris assignments? It ain’t fair!’

Desi snorted, taking some cheese herself and spreading it on a slice of baguette, as all three of the agents watched as a young-ish man in nondescript clothing strode over towards the trash can, and glanced into it, pulling out Boucher’s parcel, seemingly unaware of being followed by the arms dealer as he left the park.

They exchanged a quick glance, a silent discussion passing between them, and then, Mac leaned over and pecked Desi on the cheek, before jumping up as he spoke.

‘I’ll go buy some more of that cheese you like, since Dad has eaten it all…’

Jack’s cheeks were indeed bulging. Desi smiled up at him.

‘Thanks, honey.’ She gave a little shiver, wrapping her jacket around her a little more tightly. ‘It’s getting cold; we’ll meet you back at the hotel?’

After nodding in agreement, Mac hurried out of the park, for all appearances a besotted young man doting on his fiancée, _just happening_ to head in the same direction as Boucher and his quarry.

Meanwhile, Jack and Desi finished and packed up their picnic at a more leisurely pace, Desi staring at her phone every now and then, doing her best impression of a young woman in love, staring at, perhaps, photos of her fiancé, but really tracking Mac’s phone, and hence Mac and Boucher, through the streets of Paris.

* * *

**AN ALLEYWAY**

**PARIS**

* * *

Mac had stopped and loitered outside a series of shopfronts when Boucher ducked from one alleyway (full of shops) to another (empty and full of dumpsters), and waited until Boucher had left the alleyway, keeping an eye on where he was heading, before glancing down the alleyway.

He immediately regretted waiting for Boucher to leave, because at the end of the alleyway, in the blindspot of the CCTV camera monitoring the alleyway, was the young man who’d picked up the dead-dropped parcel.

In a pool of blood.

Mac cursed under his breath, and with a last glance at Boucher’s disappearing back, made a decision and hurried over to the man, checking for a pulse.

There was none.

He was dead.

The dead-dropped parcel’s packaging was next to him, having apparently been opened, and pieces of a burner phone were still near his hand, like he’d been holding it when Boucher had killed him.

Mac heard footsteps coming up the alleyway, ones that sounded very familiar to him, and looked up to see Jack and Desi jogging down the alleyway.

The other two agents glanced at the dead body, and then looked at each other, before shaking their heads.

‘It’s a dead end. Literally.’

Desi had her lips pursed and her arms crossed. Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion.

‘Why’d Boucher dead-drop something to this guy, then kill him and destroy it?’

Desi raised a shoulder.

‘Million-dollar question, Jack.’

She said that as if it should have been _obvious_.

Mac’s eyes, meanwhile, fell on the bits of burner phone, and he pulled out his Swiss Army knife, taking out the tweezers and picking up a choice part.

Jack smirked slowly, and even Desi’s lips twisted a little as they caught that very familiar (and very welcome) look on the blonde’s face.

‘Boucher didn’t destroy it good enough to stop you, eh?’

Mac gave a little smirk, his brain running at a million miles a minute.

‘I think I can get something off this…’ He gestured with a hand in Jack and Desi’s general vicinity, then at the nearest dumpster. ‘Can you grab me some aluminium foil?’

Jack and Desi headed towards the dumpster, the rank, rotting smell growing stronger and stronger.

Their noses wrinkled, and they stared one another down for a beat, before each whipped out a fist, counted out three bounces on their opposite open palm, and decided their fates.

Jack had rock. Desi had paper.

The Texan groaned and opened the dumpster, as Desi strode back over to Mac, smirking.

* * *

**ONE HOUR LATER**

**FANCY HOTEL ROOM**

**PARIS**

* * *

‘…the dead guy is a career petty criminal, recently released from a French prison.’ Over Jack’s phone, as Mac’s had been sacrificed to retrieve whatever they could off the burner (Mac had tried to get the older man to hand over his, but Jack had just brought up the fact that Beth clearly needed to be able to reach him, and the blonde had relented with some eye-rolling), Riley updated Jack, Mac and Desi with what she had found. ‘He’s also had a recent windfall, courtesy of a Chechen terrorist organization.’

The trio of field agents exchanged glances, Desi speaking.

‘These Chechen terrorists paid our dead guy to collect the dead-drop from Boucher.’

Riley nodded.

‘They’re pulling out all the stops. The purchase they want to make off Boucher…it’s the biggest deal he’s ever made in his career.’

Which was saying a lot.

Jack let out a low whistle. Mac pulled a paperclip from his pocket, which rapidly began to take the shape of a dollar sign.

‘So he’s come out of hiding, to meet the Chechens and close the deal in-person.’

On Jack’s phone, Riley nodded again.

‘The Chechens insisted, so Boucher insisted on setting the time and place for the meet-‘

Jack interrupted.

‘And shooting the messenger as soon as he got the message off.’ He paused as he got three unimpressed looks. ‘Come on! That was a good one! I spent ages coming up with it!’

That got three surprisingly-identical snorts.

‘Yeah.’

‘Of course you did.’

‘It shows.’

Mac tossed the dollar-sign paperclip down onto the coffee table that Desi had her feet on.

‘Did you get the time and location for the meet off that burner, Riley?’

She just looked at him with an eyebrow cocked, like she was asking, _what do you take me for?_

Mac looked a little sheepish, as the hacker spoke.

‘Yup, texting it to you now, but I can’t help you get in…’

* * *

**A VERY FANCY, VERY EXCLUSIVE RESTAURANT**

**(EVEN FANCIER AND MORE EXCLUSIVE THAN THE LAST ONE)**

**PARIS**

* * *

‘…I had a reservation, I got a reservation! You lost it, you guys messed up!’ Jack, dressed head-to-toe in fancy clothes, ostentatious with wealth and lacking in class, yelled at the poor young woman at the hostess stand, playing the part of a very wealthy, demanding and entitled would-be customer. Beside him, Desi, dressed like a trophy wife, sniffed disdainfully. ‘I demand to speak to your manager!’

Several other staff members bustled over, as Jack’s voice rose even further in volume.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mac crawled through the ventilation ducts, preparing to execute his section of the plan to capture Boucher and the leader of the Chechen terrorist group.

He had just gotten into position and was waiting for the signal when there was an eruption of noise below him, in the private room where Boucher and the Chechen were meeting.

‘Him! I’ve seen him before, we’re-‘

Mac didn’t hear the rest of the words, as they were drowned out by shouts, a gunshot and what he was quite sure was breaking furniture.

Cursing under his breath, he started reversing through the ventilation ducts as fast as he could.

* * *

_According to Murphy’s Law, everything that can go wrong, will go wrong._

_This is why I don’t like plans._

_They always go wrong._

* * *

Mac ran out onto the curb at full tilt, just as Jack and Desi pulled up in a _very, very_ fancy black Mercedes.

He threw himself in and Jack, who was driving, took off without even waiting for Mac to close the door properly, or get his seatbelt on, chasing Boucher’s vehicle with Riley’s help through his earpiece.

Desi, meanwhile, glanced back at Mac with her arms crossed as he yanked his seatbelt on.

‘For the record, Jack picked the vehicle.’

The blonde gave a wry little grin.

‘That limo grew on me.’ Mac glanced around at the interior of the car, trying to find something, anything, that he could use to do something, anything, that’d help them catch Boucher and the Chechen. Unfortunately, it was spotless. ‘You were right, that was one very tricked-out vehicle, I had a lot to work with-‘

Jack complained loudly as he made a very sharp turn, doubtlessly following Riley’s suggestion of a shortcut.

‘Well, next time, brother, I’ll pick the piece o’ junk full of even more junk that can’t do more than sixty miles an hour!’

* * *

The car rocketed out of the alleyway, and Jack turned the wheel rapidly, pulling it to a screeching stop across the road, right in front of Boucher’s car.

Thwarted, Boucher and the Chechen fired off a few shots as they got out of the car. Jack cursed as one hit the wing mirror, while Desi cursed as she just missed Boucher’s shoulder while returning fire, and the two villains succeeded in making it into the nearest building.

Mac was already out of the car, ducked behind the door for cover, and Desi leaning half out of the window, while Jack had already pulled out his phone, calling back to HQ to see if they could track their targets.

(If anyone could, it was Riley.)

The three of them didn’t even have to glance at each other as they made their way into the building, ready for action and on high alert.

* * *

The building, an open space that was clearly being renovated, with the ceiling apparently held up by two-by-fours and jacks, was completely empty.

No sign of Boucher or the Chechen.

Nowhere for them to hide.

Mac looked up at the open rafters briefly, then started stomping on the floor loudly, listening carefully to the sound his feet made.

Jack stared at his partner as he stomped, while Desi continued to scan the room warily, keeping watch.

‘Brother, you turning into a vampire bat or something and doing that echoing-location thing?’

Mac looked half-exasperated, and half-impressed. It was an odd expression.

‘Echolocation, Jack. The term is echolocation. And you’re not far off.’ He apparently heard what he was looking for, because he crouched down and pulled out his Swiss Army knife, working the large blade between the floorboards. There was a clicking noise, and then a trapdoor opened, to reveal a drop into a dark tunnel. The labyrinths of Paris. Mac stuck his head down the hole, glanced around, looked up at Jack and Desi and noted their looks of concern. (Jack’s was obvious, Desi’s less so, but he could read her pretty well now. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Desi knew all about what had happened last time Mac had been down in the labyrinths of Paris.) ‘I’ll be fine. We’ve got a job to do.’

His face was determined, set, but calm, pushing away the sting of that day, of the now-twin aches and guilt and burdens of Al and Charlie.

Without another word, Mac dropped through the hole.

Jack and Desi exchanged another glance, then dropped down into the labyrinth themselves.

* * *

_What can I say?_

_We’re a team._

_We’re also family._

_We are way too invested in each other’s business, but we watch each other’s backs and worry about each other._

_But I meant it._

_I’ll be fine._

_It hurts. It’s always going to hurt._

_But in this line of work, the job has to come first._

* * *

Mac, Jack and Desi made their way through the tunnels, trying to keep their footsteps as quiet as possible, the latter two with their weapons drawn and at the ready.

They rounded a corner, and were greeted by a grisly sight.

The Chechen, in a pool of blood, a single gunshot wound in his chest.

Mac took in the scene for half a second, then ran over, Desi and Jack following and covering him in case of any traps he hadn’t seen.

He crouched down by the man, tried in vain to find a pulse, and shook his head.

‘He’s dead.’

Desi replied, already looking further down the tunnel, all business.

‘Boucher killed him to try and delay us.’ She jumped over the dead man and started running down the hallway. ‘Which means he knows we’re catching up to him.’

Mac and Jack took off after Desi, Jack muttering something under his breath about working with young people and their lack of consideration for his knees as Mac pulled ahead of him, catching up with Desi.

* * *

Jack and Desi ran down the tunnel, chasing Boucher, who was perhaps fifty feet ahead of him. Both had their weapons drawn, and merely a second apart, fired at the arms dealer, then fired again.

The gunshots missed, just, ricocheting off the stone walls, but served their purpose, slowing him down slightly, startling him…just in time for Mac to appear from the right-hand side of the T-junction ahead and throw a bola made of some old, slightly-frayed rope and a couple of WWII-era cans of very expired food.

The bola tangled around Boucher’s legs, causing him to fall flat on his face, and Desi and Jack caught up with him, Desi hauling him up to his feet none-too-gently.

Jack, meanwhile, threw his hands up in the air in celebration, and then pointed at both Desi and Mac.

‘We’re the A-team, right here!’

The two younger agents just exchanged a glance, exasperated and fond and with a bit of eye-rolling.

* * *

_For once, a plan actually went to plan._

_And Jack was very Jack about it, but he’s got a point._

_We do make a good team._

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Bozer packed up his prosthetics kit again, and picked up his phone, staring at the last messages he and Leanna had exchanged over the app that Riley had written for them.

They had talked a little the night before (but hadn’t _really_ talked), and he got the feeling that they were kind-of ignoring one another, which really wasn’t good.

(He’d needed some space, she’d needed some space, and with what was going on in Paris with Boucher…)

But now it was lunchtime and time for a break, as his stomach reminded him, and Boucher had been captured and turned into the relevant authorities, so Bozer reckoned it was time to take Riley’s advice and really talk to Leanna.

He walked out of the lab doors, and almost collided with Matty, who just happened to be standing there.

‘You might want to have lunch in the empty office on the fifth floor, Bozer.’

That was said very pointedly.

She turned and walked away without another word, leaving Bozer both grateful and slightly unsettled.

‘Uh, thanks, boss!’

He was still totally convinced that Matty the Hun had superpowers.

* * *

Meanwhile, Riley sat down in the breakroom and opened her container of salad and unwrapped her sandwich. Just as she was picking up her fork, Beth bustled into the breakroom, holding a container of what appeared to be a vegetable-heavy whole-wheat pasta dish and a large block of chocolate.

The doctor put her lunch in the microwave, then sat down opposite Riley, unwrapped the end of the chocolate and held it out to the hacker rather firmly, raising a shoulder a little awkwardly.

‘I thought that, well, since _Paris…_ you might like some chocolate.’

Riley smiled, and reached out and broke off a sizeable chunk.

(She, Beth, Desi and Leanna had shared some stories at girls’ night, so Beth knew all about Billy Colton and his sheer idiocy.)

(Riley still thought it was hilarious that Beth’s three ex-boyfriends were a rocket scientist, a trainee brain surgeon and the youngest Senator ever from Indiana – clearly there was a high bar for a hypothetical future boyfriend - and was completely unsurprised that Desi had lots of stories about surfer dudes hitting on her, then getting worked up when she out-surfed them.)

‘Thanks.’

Beth smiled back at her and took a piece herself.

* * *

‘Leanna?’ Bozer walked into the office, where his girlfriend was sitting, staring at her laptop screen. ‘I, uh, think we need to talk.’

His girlfriend turned around in her chair, looking less put-together than usual, and like she hadn’t slept very well for a few nights.

Automatically at the sight of that, Bozer reached out and hugged her, full of sympathy, and she leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment before stepping away a little to look him in the eye.

‘I love you, Bozer, I really do.’ That was said with complete and utter certainty and conviction, and made Bozer smile, a little sadly. Leanna looked guilty. ‘And I want to be with you, and I think this could be, well, you could be it, but…’ She fiddled with her hands, her usual composure absent. ‘You know how I plan and analyse and over-think everything.’ It was the complete opposite of Bozer, who was pretty spontaneous. Growing up with Angus MacGyver, who had continually extolled the virtues of improvising even as a child, probably did that to you. ‘It’s hard not to…worry, or doubt a little…it’s not your fault, it’s all in my head, I know, it’s just…’

She trailed off. Leanna’s over-thinking made it hard for her to commit, made her uncertain and unsure when there was nothing to be uncertain or unsure about.

The fact that she’d agreed to their secret relationship in the first place had meant a lot, a lot more than Bozer had realized, in hindsight.

She loved him, and he loved her, and he was so, so sure about that. They’d already fought for their relationship, and he was sure they’d keep fighting, so despite the fact that he so wanted to bring her home, wanted her to bring him home, despite the fact that it stung that she didn’t want to yet…

It was enough. More than enough for him.

Bozer smiled, and leaned over to kiss her tenderly, then grinned.

‘Love you too.’ His grin turned teasing. ‘Even the over-thinking bit, and your really cold feet in the middle of the night…’

Leanna laughed a little, and he counted that as a win, before her expression turned serious.

‘Thanks, honey.’

He just smiled back and tangled their fingers together.

* * *

‘…seriously, why couldn’t we stop for one more croissant on the way back? Wasn’t as if Boucher was going to go anywhere!’

Mac shook his head and Desi snorted as they walked into the war room in front of Jack, who paled when he saw who was waiting for them there.

Bozer, Riley, Matty…and Beth, who was holding her tablet and shooting him a very firm _look._

He rubbed the back of his neck.

‘Oh, hey, Lil’ Doc.’

He shot Matty a betrayed look (she was, of course, utterly unapologetic), then turned to the doctor, who was narrowing her eyes at him.

‘We need to talk, Jack. Privately.’

He sighed resignedly and waved a hand.

‘Eh, just say it now, Lil’ Doc. Matty’s worked it out, the young ‘uns will get it out of me later anyway.’

He sounded very, very resigned, which made Beth’s expression soften with sympathy. She tapped her tablet screen and held up a page of blood test results to him.

‘Your cholesterol levels are beginning to edge towards high territory. Now, this is quite normal for you age group, and isn’t something to be terribly concerned about, and you are far from needing medication, but in order to avoid future health complications and the need for said medication, I strongly recommend that you make some changes to your diet. It really boils down to eating more plants.’ She tapped her tablet a couple more times, and Mac, Bozer, Riley and Desi exchanged a glance, suppressing smirks, because Jack really was getting old, wasn’t he? ‘I’ve just sent you some dietary recommendations, complete with peer-reviewed references.’ She turned a little and narrowed her eyes at the four younger agents, rather pointedly. ‘I’m sure Bozer will be happy to teach you to cook more delicious plant-based foods, and Riley could write an excellent algorithm to evaluate the suitability of recipes you find online, and Mac can explain the literature to you if you wish, and Desi can assist you with motivation…’

That got nods of agreement. Mac and Bozer’s expressions turned sheepish, while Riley and Desi remained completely unapologetic, Desi smirking a little as she doubtlessly thought of how she could _motivate_ Jack.

Meanwhile, Matty’s expression grew into something that was halfway between an amused smile and a knowing smirk.

She’d totally called this _months_ ago.

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

‘…you’ll have to cut back on the meat-lovers.’

‘And the burgers.’

‘And the hot-dogs.’

‘And definitely the bacon.’

As they sat down around the fire-pit to eat breakfast for dinner, Mac, Bozer, Riley and Desi teased Jack relentlessly, while the older man practically pouted.

‘Oh, come on, now you’re just rubbing it in!’

Desi reached over and stole the extra piece of bacon that Jack had doubtlessly stolen for himself when Beth and Bozer had been busy dealing with Mac’s latest kitchen incident (his pancake-making toaster had decided to fire batter at the ceiling, leaving the blonde with pancake batter all over his hair and the ceiling in dire need to cleaning with his extendable squeegee), popping the entire thing into her mouth.

Jim patted the other middle-aged man sympathetically on the shoulder.

‘A low-cholesterol diet is really not that bad, and far superior to dealing with the effects of high cholesterol…’

Jack continued to grouse, mournfully watching his bacon disappear down Desi’s throat.

‘Tell that to my bacon!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Jack/Bacon is my OTP, and because _MacGyver_ went to Paris no fewer than four times last season. (Maybe they were trying to save money on sets?) Hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> There is no episode tag for this ep, but here’s the press release for the next one:
> 
> 4.11, Bushfires/Candlelight. A week before Christmas, California is hit by some of the worst bushfires in history. Everyone at the Phoenix chips in to help their home state in any and every way they can.
> 
> It’s the Christmas episode and the mid-season finale! Hopefully, I’ll see you in two weeks!


	11. Bushfires/Candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week before Christmas, California is hit by some of the worst bushfires in history. Everyone at the Phoenix chips in to help their home state in any and every way they can.

**‘BORROWED’ CAR**

**NEW HAMPSHIRE**

* * *

‘…I was thinking that we could hit, say, three buffets, then go see The Legends of Rock, unless you’d rather go see the Blue Man Group?’

In the passenger seat, Mac spoke conversationally, smile wry as he mentioned the Blue Man Group, planning out his and Jack’s yearly manniversary trip. Jack made a face as he drove.

‘Oh, hell no, brother. Smurfs ain’t really my speed. But only the three buffets? Come on, man, what happened to your sense of adventure? Of fun? Of a challenge?’

A voice from the back seat chipped in.

‘ _Not the time,_ boys!’

Desi’s voice was blunt, sharp and honestly snarky.

Mac and Jack exchanged a very quick glance, Mac looking a little sheepish and glancing back apologetically at Desi via the rear-view mirror, as Jack made a sharp turn and stepped on the accelerator, the silver car in front of them containing their target growing closer.

* * *

_Desi’s got a point._

_90 mph car chase isn’t the best time to be making vacation plans._

_But in our line of work, sometimes it’s hard to find a quiet moment or two to plan your much-needed and traditional yearly vacation, so…_

_You gotta improvise._

* * *

**ONE WEEK BEFORE THE MOST MAGICAL TIME OF THE YEAR**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

_‘…soon there’ll be toys for good girls and boys, and reindeer are heading our way. Yes, and Santa will come down the chimney above, there’s one thing I wanted to say…’_

* * *

‘…oh, come on, bro, what was that?’

Bozer, holding a strand of tinsel and standing in front of a half-decorated Christmas tree, gestured dramatically at the piece of popcorn on the floor that’d missed his mouth by a good half-foot.

Mac, who was turning a crank on a device that seemed to be made primarily of an old bicycle and Lego, causing popcorn from a bowl attached to the top of the machine to be pulled down a tube and threaded onto a very long popcorn garland, just gestured to Bozer’s left.

‘If you’d shifted three inches to the left, you’d have caught that, Boze.’ He held up a placating hand, looking a little sheepish. ‘But my bad, sorry.’

He picked up another piece of popcorn, and looked over at Bozer, a little grin-smirk on his face, eyebrow slightly cocked, and Bozer grinned back, opening his mouth wide and crouching down a little, like he might dive to catch the popcorn.

Mac tossed it and it landed perfectly in Bozer’s mouth, which led to cheers and an enthusiastic fist-bump.

‘Oh yeah!’

* * *

Meanwhile, outside, Desi and Leanna stood on two ladders, hanging up fairy lights on the roof. The front yard had an outrageous quantity of Christmas decorations already, including several reindeer that were made of scrap metal and assorted junk (one with a red lightbulb for a nose), signs that had slogans like ‘Merry Christmas’ and ‘Stop here, Santa!’ and inflatable snowmen.

‘Two inches to the left?’

‘It’s not quite centred, Desi…’ Leanna regarded the two strings of fairy lights, which crossed over almost-halfway along the gutters, and almost directly under the large neon ‘Happy Holidays’ sign on the roof. It _bothered_ her that they weren’t perfectly aligned. ‘Another three inches to the left…’

Without complaint, Desi just shifted the lights she was holding perfectly three inches to the left, putting them into perfect alignment.

(Desi liked her plans. Apparently her calendar was anal-retentive. That was probably true, but the system worked.)

(So she _got_ Leanna’s fondness for neatness and order.)

* * *

Taking a break from the decorating, Diane and Matty sat at the dining table, sipping large mugs of Bozer’s secret-recipe hot chocolate, with added peppermint for the holiday season.

‘…and Blondie steals a garden gnome.’

Matty sounded thoroughly exasperated, a tone that Diane recognized very, very well, from incidents like the time Riley had convinced a biker gang to break her ex’s legs. She arched an eyebrow at the shorter woman.

‘A garden gnome?’

‘Yes, a garden gnome. I still have no idea what he did with it, but we got a damages claim for a _garden gnome_.’

Diane just reached out and patted Matty’s shoulder sympathetically.

* * *

In the living room, Jack and Riley hung the last of the Christmas stockings on the fireplace, which was now rather crowded.

(But, as Jack always said, there was always room for one more. Quite literally, if one had Angus MacGyver on the case.)

(He’d attached some sort of rack to the fireplace, which meant that they could hang Christmas stockings all the way up the chimney.)

Jack lowered the hook-on-a-stick that Mac had handed him so he could reach the top-most stocking hooks, and then flopped down onto the couch next to Riley, wrapping an arm around her shoulders for a side-hug and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

‘It’s gonna be a great Christmas, Ri.’

She grinned at him, looking very young, and hugged him back tightly.

‘We’ve got the whole family together.’

* * *

A little later, after Jack and Riley had headed to the dining room to join Matty and Diane for some hot chocolate, Beth and Jim moved Mac’s Lego-based gramophone into the living room from the garage, where they’d been reconstructing it. They set it down, and Jim looked around at the decoration-filled living room, a soft little smile on his face.

He was silent for a moment, the only noise in the room the sound of Beth plugging in the gramophone and the Hallmark Christmas movie playing on the TV, before speaking.

‘You know, there was a time when I wondered if I’d make it this far.’

Before he’d started responding to treatment, he’d been told that there was a distinct possibility that he might not make it to Christmas.

Beth had been the very first person he’d told that.

(And…he’d admitted to her while heaving into the toilet bowl in their favourite café, so sick from nausea that she couldn’t in good conscience leave him alone, that if Christmas was just him sitting at home, eating dinner for one, because Angus wasn’t on speaking terms with him anymore…he didn’t know if he could keep fighting. Keep suffering in the hope – and it was a _hope_ , no matter how much science was involved – that he might get better, might survive.)

She looked up at him, and there was something a touch sad in her eyes for a beat, and Jim was certain she was remembering that terrible day, before she smiled, soft and fond and broad, getting up and holding her arms out for a hug.

‘I’m glad you’re here. Mac’s glad you’re here. We’re all glad you’re here.’

That was said with vehement, fierce determination, like she might argue with him if he disagreed.

Jim smiled over the young woman’s shoulder.

No arguing would be necessary, because he believed her.

As they let go of one another, suddenly, the Hallmark Christmas movie stopped playing, and a news bulletin began, the newsreader looking very, very grave. There was a map beside her of California, several flame icons spread across it.

‘…authorities are warning NorCal residents to be on high alert, especially those in Glenn County, warning that the Copper City Fire is the worst they’ve seen since the Camp Fire. Residents of Elk Creek, Fruto, Willows and surrounds are advised to prepare for the worst…’

Jim and Beth glanced at one another for a second, before Jim pulled out his phone and started making some calls, while Beth hurried out of the room to get everyone else.

There was no question what they’d be doing with a rare day off a week before Christmas.

* * *

**CHICO**

**BUTTE COUNTY**

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

* * *

Matty and Jim strode into the command centre that had been set up in the city of Chico in Butte County to coordinate emergency services. It was a testament to how serious the Copper City Fire was that the command centre wasn’t in Glenn County itself, with the county seat under threat.

They were followed by Riley, her rig in hand, and Jan from Accounts, who was on her tablet as she walked, moving some Phoenix funds around to assist, however they could.

Oversight and the Phoenix’s Director walked up to the man in a headset running the room (or tent).

‘Phoenix Foundation, out of LA.’

‘How can we help?’

* * *

‘…alright, should be fine now, but you’ll have to take her in for repairs in a week or two.’

Mac slid out from underneath the fire engine he was making a quick-and-dirty repair to, and smiled when he heard a familiar voice.

‘See you haven’t changed, MacGyver.’

He jumped up smoothly and reached out to shake the hand of a shorter Hispanic man in his mid-thirties wearing a Mendocino Hotshots uniform, an assistant superintendent’s insignia on it and the name ‘Salazar’, before pulling him into a hug.

‘Good to see you, Ollie.’ He stepped back, gesturing at the buzzing emergency response command centre. ‘Just wish it was under better circumstances.’

The other man nodded grimly, before smiling again and calling out to a bunch of other Mendocino Hotshots.

‘Oi, get over here, boys! I got someone for you to meet!’ He gestured at Mac, who smiled and held his hand out for a round of handshakes. ‘Angus MacGyver, Boy Wonder, saved my ass a few times over in The Sandbox.’

Mac gave a very self-deprecating smile.

‘And your captain saved mine a few times too.’

* * *

**NEARBY AIRSTRIP**

* * *

Meanwhile, Jack got out of the car at the airfield, glanced around at the parked water bombers, and strode up to the control tower, where an extremely stressed- and grim-looking man, older than him, was just hanging up a call on his phone, expression growing even grimmer.

Jack walked up to him, and held out a hand.

‘I’m Jack Dalton, my boss called?’

The man nodded, studying him.

‘We’re short on pilots…’ Due to the scope of the fires, many of the water bomber pilots hadn’t been able to make it to the airfield. ‘…she said you can fly?’

Jack held out the documentation that Andi had literally thrust into his hands; he’d never had to use his pilot’s license (and the non-classified, civilian-safe descriptions of his piloting experience) before.

‘Never flown a water bomber, but I’ve flown in these conditions.’

The man took the documentation, glanced through it, then nodded once, decisively.

‘Alright, Dalton, let’s get you airborne.’

‘Yes, sir!’

* * *

**EVACUATION CENTRE**

**CHICO**

**BUTTE COUNTY**

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

* * *

In the back of the Phoenix’s second-largest van, Walter from Wardrobe passed a large box of clothing to Bozer, who grinned and ferried it inside, ready for distribution to the evacuees pouring into the local high school that’d been converted into an evacuation centre.

Most had come with only the clothes on their backs, with no time to pack (and they all knew many would lose everything they had as the bushfire swept through their homes), so they’d dug into the Phoenix’s huge wardrobe, pulling out everything that wasn’t a uniform, a tux or an evening gown.

Bozer put the box down on a table for the organizers, before going back for the next box that Walter handed him.

* * *

Desi stood by a trestle table with a couple of laptops on it, while Leanna sat in front of one of the laptops, filling out a spreadsheet with the names of the evacuees and their addresses.

Desi smiled reassuringly at a teenage boy who was clutching his younger sister’s hand, the two having been separated from their parents, and passed them a backpack of snacks, clothes and blankets, hastily put together by the volunteers.

Leanna looked up from the laptop.

‘You’re in the system; as soon as someone finds your parents, we’ll know, and you’ll know.’

The boy nodded, the weight on his shoulders perhaps slightly lighter, and tugged his sister’s hand.

‘Come on, Nessa, let’s get settled…’

Desi turned her attention to the next person in the slightly-disorderly queue, a heavily pregnant woman whose face was stained with tears.

‘…I can’t find my husband, his car was right behind me, then…’

Leanna got up, passing her chair over to Desi, who put it down and gestured for the woman to sit, before crouching down in front of her and offering her a bottle of water she pulled out from under the table.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the high school’s science labs, Beth was unpacking bags and bags of medical supplies, setting up triage.

She and all the Phoenix’s medics had just about cleared out their infirmary, leaving the bare minimum staff and supplies needed to treat the few agents out on missions, and taken several Phoenix vehicles up to Chico.

Beth pulled out packets and packets of saline solution, from a bag that seemed too small to hold them all, just as Ritchie and Dr Farnham came back in, pushing their portable ultrasound machine between them.

(Thank goodness they’d insisted to Matty and Oversight that they needed a portable one.)

Dr Farnham spoke in a loud, clear voice, catching the attention of all the Phoenix medics, plus the local and evacuated ones who’d joined them.

‘Desi says we should expect our first patients in minutes.’

He got a dozen serious nods in response, and they all sped up in doing their tasks.

Beth finished unpacking the saline, tucked the bag away where no-one would trip over it, and took a deep breath, pulling herself into her calm doctor’s headspace, ignoring the slight smell of smoke, of burning, that was in the air, had made it through any little gaps or draughts in the doors and windows.

There were people who needed her skills, her training.

* * *

‘…ooh yeah!’ Jack whooped over the comms. ‘Told ya I could do it, Jim!’

In the command tent, wearing a headset and staring at a big screen showing a satellite image of the fire-front Jack had just hit with a load of water (perfectly centred at the most efficient point to help put it out), Jim shook his head in a way that was fond, but he would deny endlessly.

(He’d been forbidden by Beth – on pain of her terrifying wrath – from going anywhere near the directly fire-affected areas himself, since he’d had chemo the day before, so had to content himself with directing the water bombers from afar, using his considerable intellect to choose the best points to bomb the multiple fire-fronts to protect lives and property.)

(It was a task that he was perfectly suited to, the sort of task that he had grown used to in his many years as Oversight, but still, he was a MacGyver and a man of action at heart.)

‘Well done, Dalton. Refill, and then I’ve got your next coordinates.’ He glanced at the live satellite image he had on a laptop in front of him. ‘Rogers, change your heading six degrees north…’

* * *

‘…alright, I’ve got you connected, Elk Creek.’

In the command tent, Leanna spoke into a headset as she typed on her laptop, using one of Riley’s programs to set up a communications network for all the emergency services across NorCal.

Riley, next to her, typed frantically on her rig, moving satellites around and getting access to some that she really shouldn’t have access to (it’d be fine; Matty had called in a favour and gotten her a get-out-of-jail-free card), to get them the best possible images of the fires burning.

* * *

‘…I don’t care if it’s _inconvenient,_ Bill, you owe me one, and more importantly, California is burning. People are losing everything, _including_ their lives.’ Matty paused, letting it all sink in, then smiled in grim satisfaction. ‘Good.’

* * *

Bozer was holding a giant box of sandwiches, passing them out to the evacuees in the high school gym.

He passed three to a teenage boy sitting on a cot with his little sister curled up on it, her head pressed against his thigh, his hand running comfortingly through her hair, then handed another two to a heavily pregnant woman who was sniffling and red-eyed.

‘I’ve got a PB&J for you, and a ham and cheese with pickles for the kid?’

He gave his most winning grin as he spoke, thinking that the lady really needed a laugh.

It got a noise out of her that might have been close, and she smiled up at him gratefully, taking both sandwiches and unwrapping one, clearly famished.

‘Thank you.’

Bozer gave an exaggerated salute, channelling Jack as he clicked his heels together, tucking the box under one arm.

‘Anytime, ma’am!’

* * *

‘…we’ve got a situation.’ Jim, who was speaking, and Matty stood in front of a TV screen displaying a map showing a fire-front at the top of a nearby mountain, about to jump a ridge. Several hundred feet below, there was a road, and a star in the middle of it, in the path of the fire. ‘We’ve got word that a group of civilians are trapped on this road; it’s blocked.’

Matty gestured at the fire.

‘And once the wind changes, that fire will rush downhill.’

She didn’t need to explain what happened next.

That got a nod from Ollie Salazar, standing at the head of the group of Hotshots in the tent, Mac to his side, Desi leaning against the table that Riley and Leanna’s laptops were on.

‘And that’s where we come in.’

Salazar spoke extremely nonchalantly, despite the extreme danger of the situation.

Jim nodded.

‘We’re sending you to slow the fire-front to buy Agent Nguyen time to evac the civilians.’

Salazar nodded again, and gestured at the two most junior firefighters on his team, a pair of nineteen-year-olds.

‘Brenton, McDermott, you’re going with her.’ One of them, McDermott, looked like he was going to protest, but a few words from Salazar quelled whatever protest he had. ‘You’re our lookouts, and she’s gonna need help clearing the road.’

Mac tucked the paperclip he’d been playing with back in his pocket, caught his friend’s eye.

‘Need another pair of hands?’

Salazar glanced at Mac for a moment, as if he was remembering something from the past, then nodded once with great certainty. McDermott made another noise of protest, and Brenton and the other guy next to him elbowed him and spoke simultaneously.

‘You remember that trick Cap pulled at the start of the season? He got that from MacGyver!’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all the Cap’s stories?’

Salazar grinned, the expression full of dark humour.

‘Well, your brain’ll help.’ He clapped Mac on the shoulder. ‘Let’s get you some gear.’

As they left the command centre, Mac caught Matty’s eye, then his dad’s, and gave a single nod.

_To borrow a line from the only robot that Jack trusts…I’ll be back._

* * *

‘…come on, man, you can’t tell me life ain’t better with more bacon!’

Jack’s voice nattered incessantly over the line, and Jim rolled his eyes as he did multivariate calculus in his head to determine the next set of coordinates that required a load of water.

‘I _cannot_ believe that Angus describes your chatter as white noise.’ Jim paused. ‘And bacon is delicious, but healthy cholesterol levels are essential for a long and productive life.’

‘There ain’t no living without bacon!’

* * *

Matty stood behind one of the Phoenix techs who was working on reuniting families who’d been separated during the chaos of the evacuation, coordinating the small group.

She looked up at the teenage boy, Nate, who was now carrying his little sister Nessa, as the little girl had fallen asleep and he didn’t want to wake her, but also didn’t want to leave her. She smiled at the boy.

‘We’ve found your parents. They’re at another evac centre in the next school district.’

She glanced at the tech, who pointed at something on the screen, and then, Matty pulled out her phone and dialled a number, before handing it to Nate, who was wide-eyed and hopeful and relieved and seemed to be trying to hold it back, just in case she was wrong, just in case there was a mistake.

Matty smiled wider in satisfaction as Nate’s eyes lit up, as a heavy weight seemed to lift off his shoulders as he heard his parents’ voices, and as little Nessa woke up, rubbing her eyes and crying out, ‘Mummy!’

She turned around to continue the good work, but was nearly knocked over by a small, human-shaped blur slamming into her, wrapping its arms around her with a loud sob.

* * *

**ISOLATED ROAD**

**NEAR MENDOCINO NATIONAL FOREST**

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

* * *

Desi, McDermott and Brenton drove along the road, Desi driving while the two Hotshots prepared their gear in the back.

She parked the 4WD as they reached the blockage in the road: several trees that’d fallen over, smouldering with sparks that’d been blown in advance of the fire-front by the changing wind, and covering her mouth with the damp scarf around her neck, got out of the car.

She heard shouting from the other side of the burning trees.

‘…I don’t care, my wife’s due any day! I’ve gotta get through!’

‘You’re not gonna get through, son!’

Desi called out as loud as she could.

‘Hello! I’m Desiree Nguyen, I’m a federal agent! I’ve got two Mendocino Hotshots here with me, and we’re going to get you out of here.’ She paused, acting on the hunch she had. (She was spending _way_ too much time with Mac, if she was following hunches like this.) ‘Mr Soon-to-be-Dad, is your name Danny Liu?’

There was a moment of silence, before the first man replied.

‘Yeah…’

He sounded slightly freaked out. Desi didn’t blame him, and smiled wryly as she wondered what the odds were of this.

(Beth had a theory – it was backed up by math – that _somehow_ , MacGyvers increased the probability of improbable events. Desi didn’t completely get the math, but was starting to think that impossible though it was, it was actually a thing.)

‘Your wife’s at an evac centre in Chico. I promised I’d keep an eye out for you!’ Brenton and McDermott got closer to the smouldering trees, Brenton dousing the flames while McDermott took a good look to work out how best to remove the blockage. ‘How many of you are stuck back there?’

The second male voice called back.

‘Thirty-six!’

‘Any injuries?’

Desi had a med-kit that Beth had handed her as she’d gotten into the 4WD, and she was pretty sure that now that the trees weren’t on fire anymore, she could squeeze her way through as Brenton and McDermott cleared the road.

‘We’re good!’

That, at least, was a relief, as the end of Desi’s scarf started to flutter in the wind, her hair getting swept up too.

The wind had changed.

The smell of smoke grew stronger.

Brenton and McDermott exchanged a glance, and began to cut through the first tree faster, while Desi ran over to the 4WD and grabbed a coil of towing rope, tying some around the 4WD’s tow hook, then tossing the other end to Brenton, who tied it around the bisected tree. He shot her a thumbs up, and Desi ran to the cabin, turned the ignition and floored it.

* * *

Meanwhile, up on the mountain, Mac and the rest of the Mendocino Hotshots worked frantically to hold the fire-front back to buy enough time for Desi, Brenton and McDermott to get the civilians to safety, putting out spot-fires that’d jumped ahead of the rest of the front and strategically clearing areas to slow the fire’s inevitable downhill descent.

They all felt the wind change, and exchanged glances, before redoubling their efforts.

Mac reached into the pack on his back, pulling out one of the makeshift grenades he’d put together earlier, in anticipation of them being needed for the firefighting efforts.

He tossed the water bottle, filled with fire retardant surrounding a core of explosive (the amount carefully calibrated), with a fuse made of string hanging out of the top, at one of the larger spot fires.

The fuse caught, and moments later, the firefighting grenade exploded, the force of the explosion displacing the oxygen the fire needed to burn, putting it out like blowing out a birthday candle.

Mac grinned, and Salazar caught his eye, shaking his head in a way that Mac knew was fond, despite the fact that he couldn’t really see his face behind the firefighting mask he wore.

‘Can’t do anything without an explosion, can you, Mac?’

The grin turned a little sheepish, as Mac tossed another of his grenades.

_Honestly, I think Ollie’s right._

_He knows me too well._

* * *

**EVACUATION CENTRE**

**CHICO**

**BUTTE COUNTY**

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

* * *

Bozer was passing out cookies that’d been donated by several local bakeries when shouts went up on the other side of the room.

‘Help!’

There was definite panic in a corner of the gym, so acting on his super-secret-agent-instincts, Bozer thrust the box of cookies at the nearest volunteer and ran over at top speed, to find the pregnant woman he’d cheered up earlier, standing in a puddle of liquid and with a hand on her stomach.

The crowd had parted to allow him through, and he hurried over to the woman.

‘Okay, looks like it’s show-time.’ He made himself grin despite the less-than-ideal circumstances. (He’d noticed that she was all alone, no husband to be seen, like so many at the centre who’d been separated from loved ones.) ‘My mama used to complain about my terrible timing; guess you’re gonna have a story to tell your kiddo…come on, let’s get you to the docs; I’ll introduce you to my friend Beth, she’s awesome – she _loves_ pie, she’s _really_ good at packing…’

* * *

‘…Lil’ Doc, help!’

Bozer burst into the makeshift triage that’d been set up, and Beth, who was eating a muesli bar while taking a short break, looked up at him, immediately jumping to her feet, discarding her snack and quickly washing her hands.

‘What is it, Bozer?’

‘A lady’s having a baby!’

He sounded like he was panicking. Beth, to her credit, just widened her eyes a tiny bit, before her doctor’s calm settled firmly on her face and she nodded, shoulders set.

‘Where is she?’

A moment later, the woman walked into the room, supported by a couple of other evacuees who’d volunteered to help her over while Bozer ran ahead to alert the medical staff.

Ignoring the still-panicky Bozer, Beth walked over to the woman, holding out a hand for her to shake as she hooked a chair over with her foot for her to sit in.

‘Hi, I’m Dr Beth Taylor. I’m trained in emergency medicine, and I’ve delivered five babies.’ The woman shook her hand, then clutched it tightly as a contraction went through her. Beth just smiled at that when the woman let go of her hand. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Nisha.’ The woman choked back a sob as another contraction tore through her. They were very, very close together; her labour was going exceedingly quickly. Mentally, Beth started going through the procedure for delivering a baby; she highly doubted they’d be able to get Nisha to the hospital, especially with the traffic due to the smoke and the chaos of the mass evacuation. Unfortunately, the medical evacuation chopper attached to this evacuation centre was currently on-route to Sacramento. She would most likely have to deliver in the evacuation centre. ‘I can’t do this; Danny’s not here, I don’t know where he is…I don’t know if he’s…if he’s…’

She sobbed again, another contraction tearing through her, and Beth swallowed, pushing away the fear she felt for the mother and child, the worry she felt for the husband and father, but letting that sympathy show.

‘I’m sorry, Nisha.’ She reached out and took the woman’s hand. ‘But your baby’s coming now, and he or she isn’t waiting for their daddy. Let’s get you comfortable, and I will get my friend Riley to search for your husband, I promise.’ If anyone could find him, it was Riley. Beth glanced at Bozer, who was already texting Riley, then pushed the wheelie chair Nisha was sitting in towards the science teacher’s office, where she figured the labouring woman would at least have some privacy. ‘Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?’

It was blatant distraction, but Nisha seized on it desperately and gratefully.

‘We don’t know, we…we wanted to be surprised-‘

She cried out again as another contraction hit.

* * *

Bozer knocked on the office door, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Beth pulled off her gloves, putting them into a bag that’d been tucked inside a bucket labelled medical waste. She leaned down and said something quietly to Nisha, sweaty and red-faced, then got up and walked over to the door to talk to Bozer.

‘Has Riley found him?’

Bozer just shook his head, and her eyes turned sad and worried for a moment, before her calm composure returned.

‘If anyone can find him, it’s Riley.’ Bozer nodded in agreement, and Beth stepped aside, as if she was inviting him in. Bozer balked, and the brunette woman crossed her arms and tilted her chin up at him, something fiercely determined in her eyes and spoke in a very firm whisper, pulling the door closed behind the two of them so Nisha wouldn’t hear. ‘Bozer, Nisha is _giving birth,_ alone, with no idea whether her husband is alive or not. She thinks you’re funny, and you comforted her before.’ Beth jabbed at the air in front of his chest. ‘So you’re going in there, and you’re going to let her squeeze your hand as much as she wants and tell her every funny story you can come up with while I deliver her baby.’

Bozer, at this point, really understood why Beth could make the MacGyvers behave. He also understood why they were so sure that her wrath was terrifying, despite the fact that he didn’t think they’d ever seen her wrath.

He swallowed his own fear and panic, channelled his super-composed-under-pressure-spy-skills, and nodded, put a grin on his face and opened the door.

* * *

Leanna ran onto the school’s football field, on which a helicopter had landed, and ducked under the still-spinning rotors to meet the woman getting out of it, who looked exhausted, having been flying patients back and forth for sixteen hours.

Leanna held out a hand to the woman, and passed her the chocolate-flavoured muesli bar that she’d grabbed on the way out, and shouted over the noise of the blades.

‘Leanna Martin!’ She pointed at the wing of the high school where they’d set up a makeshift break room for the emergency services and volunteers. ‘Get some rest!’

The woman smiled at her through her mouthful of muesli bar.

‘Thanks!’

Leanna smiled back, and got into the chopper, pulling on the headset.

* * *

The small blur that’d run into Matty had turned out to be a three-year-old boy named Sonny, who was currently curled up in a chair, nibbling on a chocolate bar and holding tightly onto her hand.

He refused to let go of her, breaking into sobs and screams when she did.

From what she and a very kind nurse who’d come over to check on him could get out of him, he’d been separated from his parents in the chaos of the evacuation, brought to the centre in the midst of a crowd – for which some kind strangers were credited – and then gone looking for his parents.

He hadn’t found them, but he had found Matty, and had decided, for some reason, that she was a good enough substitute until they’d been found.

Matty smiled reassuringly at the little boy as he finished off his chocolate bar, raising her other hand to ruffle his hair comfortingly (it’d worked on Sarah when she was a girl, it still worked on Mac now, it’d work on Sonny), before pulling out her phone to make some more calls.

She was Matilda Webber, known as Matty the Hun behind her back.

She could do near-anything with one hand tied behind her back; she could definitely find one little boy’s parents one-handed…and while keeping her language G-rated.

* * *

**ISOLATED ROAD**

**NEAR MENDOCINO NATIONAL FOREST**

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

* * *

Brenton and McDermott got back into the 4WD, McDermott taking the wheel, while Desi sat backwards in the back seat, a radio in hand.

The road was cleared, enough that the cars in the convoy behind them could get through, so Desi gave one sharp nod, and turned on her radio, addressing the drivers behind her, having distributed the radios she’d brought along for this exact purpose earlier.

‘Alright, we’re getting out of here. Stay close, drive carefully. Radio in if you have any issues, we’re going to get out of here as fast as we can.’ She waited to make sure that she’d been understood, then switched frequencies. ‘Salazar, we’re moving now, I’ll radio again once we’re out of the hot zone.’

‘Roger that!’

Salazar sounded worried, maybe even a little scared.

That, in turn, made worry settle into a pit in Desi’s stomach, but she pushed it into a box, locked it and threw away the key. She could not think about that right now, she had thirty-six civilians to get to safety.

She’d worry about Mac and the rest of the Mendocino Hotshots later.

* * *

Meanwhile, up on the hill, Mac, Salazar and a couple of the nearby Hotshots exchanged glances as they ran downhill, trying to stay in front of the fire, while also trying to fight it at the same time.

It wasn’t going very well. The fire was moving too fast.

Mac ran the numbers one last time in his head, as he listened to Desi’s latest update on the position of the civilian convoy.

They’d get clear in time.

Mac and the Hotshots…they weren’t going to.

As they reached a small clearing, Salazar signalled his team, and grimly, the men started clearing the scrub, while the captain radioed in to command to get a water bomber down to soak the area.

Then, the Hotshots captain made his way over to Mac.

‘If you’ve got an idea running ‘round that big brain of yours, now’s the time, Mac.’ His voice was very grave, even worried and scared. ‘We’re going to have to deploy our shelters.’

Every Hotshot knew the story of the Granite Mountain Hotshots. Heck, most of the country did now.

And this situation had some (frankly disturbing) similarities.

As it so often did, when he was most in need, an Idea crystallized out of the mass of half-formed ones running constantly around Mac’s brain.

He nodded once, and pulled out his own fire shelter from the pack on his back.

‘I’ve got an idea.’

Salazar smiled, despite the situation, and called out.

‘Hear that, boys? Our Boy Wonder’s got an idea!’

Mac shook his head fondly. Ollie really hadn’t changed, and probably never would.

The other men brightened a little too; they might not have been there in Afghanistan, but they’d heard enough from their Captain (more than enough), and trusted him and his judgement absolutely.

Mac, meanwhile, turned his focus onto modifying the fire shelters.

There were eighteen very brave men, true heroes, counting on him.

Their loved ones were counting on him.

_We’ll be home for Christmas. All of us._

_We have to be._

* * *

**EVACUATION CENTRE**

**CHICO**

**BUTTE COUNTY**

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

* * *

‘…stay your course, Dalton. That’s an order.’ Jim ground the words out as Jack protested over comms, wanting to make the run to soak the Mendocino Hotshots, Mac and the clearing they’d chosen for their last stand himself. ‘Rogers is on it.’

He tactfully ignored the curses Jack threw at him, knowing exactly where they came from.

Oversight was well aware of who had to make that run; Jack’s load of water was needed closer to his current coordinates, while Rogers was correctly positioned to help the Mendocino Hotshots. Both were excellent and experienced pilots and unlikely to miss the target.

But Jim had a clear preference, and he’d be far happier to send Jack.

(Jack loved his son. In dark moments, he sometimes thought that Jack loved his son more than he did, and that Angus loved Jack more than he loved him. But the true, objective fact was that Jack Dalton had been a far better father-figure, had shown his love for Angus far better than Jim ever had, and probably ever would.)

(And Jim understood – deeply, intimately, painfully – what one would do for love, no matter what others might think.)

But he had promised Angus.

He wouldn’t choose him over innocent lives again.

Today, he could keep that promise.

(Rogers was a damn good pilot.)

* * *

Desi ran into the command tent as soon as they arrived at the evacuation centre, handing over care of the group of civilians to Dr Farnham and Walter from Wardrobe. Brenton and McDermott followed on her heels.

They’d lost contact with Mac and the Hotshots just after clearing the hot zone, which had definitely caused the locked-away pit of worry in Desi’s stomach to get larger.

One look at Matty’s face and the tension in Oversight’s back told her that command didn’t have contact with them either.

Desi put another lock on that box.

It was needed.

* * *

Bozer sat there, holding Nisha’s hand, letting her squeeze painfully and telling her every funny story he could think of. Kneeling at the woman’s feet, Beth spoke calmly and encouragingly, counting down as Nisha pushed.

It felt like it had been hours.

And then, just as Beth announced that one last push would do it, the door burst open, and a frantic Asian man whom Bozer was positive was Danny rushed in.

He immediately vacated his spot next to the man’s wife, and without even glancing at him, Danny sat down, took her hand, just as their baby slipped out.

There was no crying, no wail like there always was in the movies, and Bozer got a bad feeling in his stomach.

Apparently, it was a feeling shared by Nisha and Danny, as she sat up a little, her voice frantic despite her exhaustion.

‘What’s wrong?’

Beth had the baby on some clean towels, and what little Bozer could see of their skin was rather blue.

That, he knew, couldn’t be good.

Beth looked extraordinarily focused on the baby, ignoring them all, rubbing the child’s skin gently while checking the airway. Then, she leaned down, placed her mouth over the baby’s mouth and nose and sucked, spitting onto another towel as a cry filled the room, weak first, then growing stronger.

She smiled, and Bozer sighed internally in relief, as Nisha actually burst into tears on her husband’s shoulder.

Beth wrapped the baby in a clean, dry towel, then passed her to her mother, placing the baby on her chest.

‘Nisha, Danny, meet your daughter.’

* * *

‘…You are not going, Jim.’ Matty, having just passed Sonny into the care of his very relieved grandmother, put her hands on her hips and shot her boss one of her _looks_. Jim opened his mouth to protest, and Matty pulled out her trump card, taking out her phone. ‘I’m calling Lil’ Doc-‘

Tattling was childish, but it was also effective, and never let it be said that Matty didn’t use every tool she had at her disposal.

Jim sighed, knowing he was beaten.

They hadn’t re-established contact with Angus and the Mendocino Hotshots. Satellite imagery was unhelpful, as although the fire-front had passed over their last known location, there was far too much smoke haze to be able to get a halfway-decent image of the area. Therefore, a retrieval team was being sent to find them and bring them back.

He had just been soundly forbidden from leading it.

He turned to Desi, who was standing slightly off to the side, still in earshot, but far away enough to give the pretence of privacy.

‘Agent Nguyen?’

It was a question, in just those two words.

Desi just nodded seriously.

‘Of course.’ She strode over and pointed at the area Jim had circled on the map, uphill and downwind of the fire-front, but only a few miles away from where Mac and the Hotshots had deployed their fire shelters. ‘We’ll start there, but you should find some other candidate locations.’

Jim nodded, getting that look on his face that was oh-so-reminiscent of Mac’s thinking-face, and as she turned away to start organizing a search team, Desi got a little smile from Matty.

She had no doubts that their boss knew she’d played him, but it’d worked anyway.

* * *

**HIGH GROUND DOWNWIND OF THE FIRE**

**NEAR MENDOCINO STATE FOREST**

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

* * *

Desi, a mask over her face due to the smoke, leaned against the first of several 4WDs parked in the clearing, and spoke into a radio.

‘Still on target?’

Leanna’s voice replied, the other woman having flown a chopper in as low as she dared to try and find signs of Mac and the Hotshots. She’d reported seeing what might have been them moving in this direction.

‘I haven’t seen anything new, there’s too much smoke.’

Desi doubted that the charred forest, dense as it was, was helping much either.

She glanced around at the other members of the retrieval team.

They’d been here for twenty minutes, and she knew that every second counted.

(Even if the fire shelters had functioned perfectly, there’d be injuries that required medical attention. Smoke inhalation at the very least, but worse was possible, even likely…)

Desi was team leader today. She made the call.

‘Another five minutes, then we leave a note and move out to Site B.’ Then, very quietly, privately, she muttered to herself. ‘Come on, Bill Nye, come on...’

* * *

Four minutes later, Desi heard footsteps.

And then, twenty seconds later, nineteen figures walked into the clearing.

Several were being supported by the others. They were all covered in soot, and what little she could see of their skin was very pink. Mac was probably going to need to cut his hair, because some of it was singed. There were worrying coughs.

But they were _alive._

Desi smiled in relief, saw the corresponding relief in their eyes, and crossed her arms.

‘You’re late.’

Mac grinned back at her, holding up a mangled radio. It appeared he’d taken it apart for parts, to do what, she had no idea.

‘Sorry, we couldn’t call ahead.’

Desi snorted rather affectionately, and picked up her own radio.

‘Command, this is Agent Nguyen. We’ve got them, all alive and accounted for, let the Docs know we’re heading back now and they’ve got nineteen new patients…’

* * *

Relief flooded through Jim as Desi’s voice filtered through the radio, and he glanced at Matty, who just smiled back at him, relief evident on her face too. He smiled back, and raised the radio to his mouth.

‘Acknowledged, Agent Nguyen, and will do.’ He switched the channels. ‘Jack, he’s okay. They’re all okay.’

There was a whoop through the radio, loud enough that Jim had to pull it quickly away from his ears.

‘Told you our boy would do it!’

It sounded far, far too relieved to be gloating.

Jim smiled a little wider.

* * *

**THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

Mac put down his food-safe fire extinguisher, the canister now empty and the fire in the barbecue in which the traditional Christmas pastrami was halfway through its cooking time out.

He put it down, and glanced over at Beth, who had been ordered by Bozer to supervise him supervising the pastrami. She just smiled and sighed in a way that was very fond, but also very exasperated.

Mac grinned sheepishly, and then looked back at the piece of butcher paper they had spread out on the deck, covered in mathematical equations.

‘Now, where were we?’ Beth could and would appreciate his mathematical proof for the plausibility of the existence of Santa Claus. Helpfully, she passed him the marker and pointed at a half-finished equation, on which she’d apparently corrected an arithmetical error while he’d been putting out the fire. ‘Thanks.’ He started finishing the equation. ‘If we assume that he possesses a device that allows him to create Einstein-Rosen bridges, or exploit pre-existing ones…’

He wrote down the last couple of terms, and Beth stared at it for a moment, processing. Then, a very impressed look crossed her face, before a realization hit, and she whirled around, narrowed her eyes at him teasingly and jabbed a finger at his sternum.

‘ _That’s_ why you sent me those papers, isn’t it?’

Mac’s grin widened, growing a little more sheepish, and taking on a bit more of the character of a smug smirk, too.

* * *

Jack and Jim sat at the dining table, eating a second helping of pastrami and a second helping of buttery mashed potatoes, and in Jack’s case, a third helping of the bacon-wrapped scallops that Bozer had decided to experiment with.

(He insisted that simply increasing the quantity of food now that the family was bigger was unacceptable. No-one had argued with him because Bozer got a little…fervent…when it came to food, especially Christmas dinner.)

Jack shovelled in a few more bites, then grabbed the pastrami and took a few more slices, before passing it to Jim, who helped himself to another slice.

It was Christmas.

They could drop the low cholesterol diet for a day.

* * *

Leanna tugged on Bozer’s hand as he fussed over dessert in the kitchen, pulling him into the spot that marked the boundary between the kitchen and the living room.

He made a noise of protest, but she put a finger over his lips.

‘It’s going to be perfect, Bozer, I know it.’

Then, she smirked, and pointed up at the ceiling, where a drone with a piece of mistletoe hanging from it hovered.

(In the corner, Riley ducked into the dining room to give them some privacy, putting down the controller.)

Bozer smirked back and leaned in.

* * *

Riley and Desi helped themselves to a second slice of Bozer’s amazing chocolate gingerbread pie, just as Matty came in from the living room, where she’d been unloading a bag of presents that was nearly as big as she was.

With a grin and a mouthful of pie, Desi cut a generous slice for their boss, while Riley dolloped plenty of spiced whipped cream over it.

Then, the three of them kicked back in their seats with their pie to watch Bozer and Jack attempt to throw peanuts into one another’s mouths, as Mac and Beth scribbled all over the window, excitedly debating as to whether Santa Claus was more likely one individual alien or an entire species of aliens. Jim was listening to the debate with an eyebrow quirked, and as Matty finished her first slice and helped herself to a second, he interjected…just as there was a loud bang as Leanna and Diane pulled one of Mac’s souped-up crackers.

Matty, Desi and Riley exchanged a glance.

Those singe-marks would probably sand out of the deck.

Probably.

* * *

Later, after the sun had set, they all sat around the fire-pit, toasting peppermint marshmallows that Bozer had made to put onto gingerbread with chocolate.

Mac looked around at his family, a smile on his face as he turned his marshmallow with one hand, sipping egg-nog from a giant novelty mug with the other.

Diane and Jack were sitting very close together, her head on his shoulder, and as Mac watched, Jack whispered something in her ear that made her laugh.

Riley watched the two of them with a smile on her face for a beat, then turned back to a conversation that she was having with Desi, Leanna and Beth that Mac was convinced should terrify him, Jack and Bozer.

His dad, whose marshmallow-toasting algorithm was remarkably similar to his own, took the marshmallow off his stick, sandwiched it between two pieces of gingerbread along with some chocolate, and was about to take a bite when Matty cleared her throat pointedly. He sighed and handed it over, since he apparently owed her for something or the other, and grabbed another marshmallow and started toasting that one.

Mac smiled wider.

* * *

_…I wish every day could be, full of peace and harmony, I wish every day could be like Christmas…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As anyone who has read _The Path Not Taken_ may realize, I have long wanted a _MacGyver_ Christmas episode in which the Phoenix Foundation saves the day in a different way, by working with people who are heroes in a different way – emergency services/first responders. For some reason, it appeals to me and seems ‘right’ for a Christmas ep! I hope it appealed to you guys, too.
> 
> No episode tag for this ep, but here’s the press release for the next one:
> 
> 4.12, Friends/Family. Oversight collapses on a mission, so Jack and Desi take it upon themselves to finish the job while Mac sits by his dad’s bedside. Meanwhile, Bozer and Leanna struggle through an op undercover as honeymooners.
> 
> See you in two weeks! (Hopefully!)


	12. Friends/Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oversight collapses on a mission, so Jack, Desi and Riley take it upon themselves to finish the job while Mac sits by his dad’s bedside. Meanwhile, Bozer and Leanna struggle through an op undercover as honeymooners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! One week early!

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

In the gym, Beth landed hard on the mats, yet again. She looked up at Desi, who was standing over her with her arms crossed, and the other woman spoke.

‘Again.’ Beth’s face fell, looking utterly, totally exhausted and spent, which she was. Desi’s expression softened ever so slightly, in a way that it probably wouldn’t have before she’d come to the Phoenix, before she’d found a family. ‘The MacGyvers have enemies, _personal_ enemies. You matter to them. You’re a weakness, so you need to learn to defend yourself better. For their sake.’

It was harsh, but it was true. Desi preferred bluntness and honesty, and she wasn’t good with pretty words anyway.

Beth sighed, forcing herself to sit up, ignoring protesting muscles and what would be bruises the next day, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. It made her look very small and very young. Then, she looked up at Desi.

‘I know. And I’m doing my best!’ That was said with fierce determination. Desi was well aware how protective the Phoenix’s youngest doctor was of all her patients, the especially-resistant and lacking-in-self-preservation ones in particular. Beth looked down at the mats, then back up at Desi. ‘But I’m not a fighter.’

The Vietnamese-American agent crouched down on the mats, locked eyes with the other woman.

‘You’re not this kind of fighter, Doc.’ Desi smiled wryly. ‘Not yet, anyway.’ Beth was never going to be as good as she was, or even as good as Riley or Leanna was. But Desi would make sure that she could defend herself better than the average woman, and better than her small frame and sweet face would suggest. ‘But you _are_ a fighter.’

She’d stayed strong when Walsh had kidnapped her, electrocuted her, kept a shock collar around her neck and used her as leverage. According to Mac, she’d even joked the way they did.

And she hadn’t let it break her. She hadn’t retreated from the world, hadn’t been cowed, but had chosen to become support staff to secret agents, which as they all knew from Jill Morgan’s tragic death, wasn’t exactly a safe life.

Beth wasn’t a woman who chose easy or safe, Desi knew. She was a fighter, even if she didn’t know it yet.

The younger woman took a deep breath, then another, that fierce determination back on her face, looking an awful lot like she did in the infirmary when she was convincing Mac or Jim or both to submit to proper medical care.

Then, she pushed herself up off the mats.

‘Thanks, Desi.’ She took a couple more deep breaths, taking a ready stance. ‘Okay, let’s go again.’

Desi smiled.

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN**

**ON-ROUTE TO HAWAII**

* * *

Bozer looked up from his phone as Matty finished briefing him and Leanna in the air, on-route to their latest mission. The two of them were being sent undercover as honeymooners to take down some drug smugglers using Hawaii as a stopover.

He smirked at his girlfriend.

‘Looks like we’re getting a vacay on Matty’s dime!’

Leanna smiled back, and it reached her eyes, but it wasn’t quite as wide or happy or excited as he’d expect.

Internally, Bozer sighed.

He really didn’t know why, but there’d been a weird and slightly tense vibe between the two of them since Christmas. Leanna’s initial trip home to her family had been cancelled because of the NorCal fires (the Phoenix had helped with clean-up too, of course), so she’d spent Christmas with him and the rest of their family at him and Mac’s place, but then she’d gone home to her family around New Year’s.

They hadn’t fought, not like they had when they’d been disagreeing over where to spend Christmas, but the vibe was just tense and _weird._

A little voice in his head muttered that maybe, just maybe, just knowing for sure that she loved him _wasn’t_ actually enough.

Not anymore.

* * *

**A WAREHOUSE**

**LA**

* * *

Meanwhile, Mac, Jack, Desi and Oversight stood in a rough semi-circle around a wannabe-big-time local gangster. The man’s hands were secured with some zip ties that Oversight had found in an old filing cabinet in the warehouse’s office (apparently, finding exactly what you needed when you needed it was a MacGyver thing, not just a Mac thing).

He was also absolutely covered with a mixture of tomatoes and feathers and a few other unsavoury items, which was how they’d managed to catch him in the first place.

Mac and Oversight stepped forward, Mac beginning to clean off the man’s face, while Oversight crouched down into his line of sight to start interrogating him.

‘We know Donaldson paid you off. What did you do for him?’

They were pursuing an ex-Navy SEAL turned merc with very few morals, whom they had intel had just been hired to assassinate the ambassador from Canada.

As Mac stepped back, his handkerchief filthy and feathered, Desi, her arms crossed, glanced at him, an eyebrow slightly arched.

‘Where did _this_ come from, Bill Nye?’

It was up there for one of Mac’s weirdest improvisations. The blonde gave a sheepish little smirk for a moment, before his expression softened, took on a touch of sadness.

‘Well, when I was five, and my mom was sick, I decided I wanted to cheer her up…’ His expression shifted back to that little smirk. ‘…by pranking my dad with my grandfather.’

Desi, to her credit, didn’t miss a beat, snorting.

‘You’re too wholesome, Mac.’

‘Uh…thanks?’

He was far better at reading Desi now, but he still had absolutely no idea if that was a compliment or an insult.

Jack patted the Vietnamese-American woman on the shoulder.

‘You get used to it, Dez.’ He then patted Mac on the shoulder, leaning closer and stage-whispering. ‘You don’t get used to that, I got no idea what she just said…’

Desi just gave a little smirk.

_She does like to keep us on our toes._

_Claims it’s training._

_We know better. Desi just likes messing with us._

* * *

**HAWAII**

* * *

‘…we’re lost!’

Bozer and Leanna, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts and a sundress with a stylish straw hat respectively, walked down the street, hauling their suitcases. Leanna hissed at Bozer angrily as her suitcase made an especially-loud thump as it went over a bump in the sidewalk.

He hissed back at her, the hot tropical weather not helping his temper.

‘We’re _supposed_ to be lost!’

That was actually true. The newlyweds Chase and Lillian Bateman were supposed to get lost on their way to their hotel, so they would just so happen to walk past the suspected smugglers’ HQ.

Leanna shot him a _look_ , actually stopping in her walking.

‘We’re _actually_ lost.’

Bozer stopped walking too, held up his hands.

‘Well, that’s not my fault!’

Leanna crossed her arms.

‘You were the one who said to make a left a few blocks’ back!’

* * *

**AN ALLEYWAY**

**LA**

* * *

Mac, Jack, Desi and Oversight pelted down the alleyway, chasing an associate of Donaldson’s. Mac was in the lead, followed closely by Desi, then Jack on her heels, and Oversight after them.

(He was older than the rest of them, and chemo had taken its toll on his body, too.)

His lungs burned. His muscles ached.

And then, suddenly, catching him entirely by surprise, his vision began to swim, and his limbs felt like they were made of lead, then suddenly, he couldn’t see, and he had the vaguest sense that he was falling…

Then nothing.

* * *

Later, Mac would have absolutely no idea why he glanced back at that instant.

Chance (luck). Instinct, some sort of sixth sense honed by years of running from Donnie Sandoz and his gang, followed by three years in The Sandbox and eight years as a covert operative?

Whatever it was, at least he did.

‘Dad!’

Donaldson’s associate temporarily forgotten, trusting in Jack and Desi to catch him, Mac sprinted back to his father, dove to catch him, to cushion his fall so he didn’t hit his head on the pavement.

Mac hit the ground hard, his dad landing with his head and shoulders on him, jarring of his head and neck thankfully minimised.

Still, he was unresponsive and unconscious, and Mac’s fingers scrabbled frantically for a pulse.

He found one, a little weak, but steady, and let out a sigh of relief, as that single-minded focus dissolved.

Instantly, a flicker of panic hit him (he had been in the middle of a mission, and it was an imperative mission, someone’s life was at stake, not to mention a risk of serious destabilisation…), and he looked up, at the far end of the alleyway…where, thankfully, Desi was roundhouse-kicking Donaldson’s associate as he attempted to escape. He dropped to his knees, and Jack wrapped an arm around his neck, cutting off his air supply until he fell into unconsciousness, letting go as soon as he did. Desi pulled out a couple of zip ties from her pocket to secure him, as Jack sprinted down the alleyway, already pulling out his phone.

‘Matty, we got a situation…’

As Jack explained, Mac kept his fingers on his dad’s pulse point. The older man caught the eyes of the younger, and gave a reassuring little nod, putting a hand on the blonde’s shoulder.

* * *

**A CAFÉ**

**HAWAII**

* * *

Bozer grinned as the man behind the counter passed him a large serving of shave ice, with lychee and mango syrup, chunks of the two fruits, a generous drizzle of sweetened condensed milk and a couple of scoops of vanilla ice-cream at the bottom. The man winked at him.

‘Your wife will love this!’

Bozer grinned wider.

‘I know she will, we’re gonna have to come back here every day!’

He felt terrible for getting him and Leanna lost (not just pretend-lost) earlier, even if he wasn’t all that sure it was actually his fault, so was hoping to cheer her up and get back into her good graces and maybe get rid of that weird, tense vibe by obtaining a really, really yummy and refreshing dessert for her.

He walked back outside to where Leanna was sitting at a table-for-two, pretending to play with her phone while she discreetly took photos of the drug smugglers having a meeting across the road using her Bluetooth-enabled camera-necklace.

Unfortunately, said smugglers seemed to have been spooked or something, because they were getting up from their table, quickly packing away their meals into takeaway boxes, explaining to the waitress that they were having a work emergency.

That was _not good._

They had to keep an eye on them, and while he didn’t think that they’d been made (and Leanna didn’t seem to think so either), the smugglers were clearly on high alert.

He and Leanna couldn’t just get up and stride in their direction, not after just sitting down at this café.

It’d look fishy. Way too fishy.

So, Bozer thought fast, striding up to Leanna and looking angry.

‘Are you texting my ex-roomie again?’ He tried to glance at Leanna’s phone, which she quickly hid, playing along, having seen exactly what he’d seen, come to the same conclusions he had. ‘You are! You promised me-‘

Leanna rolled her eyes.

‘I’m allowed to have friends!’

‘-not ones that you once cheated on me with-‘

‘-that was a mistake-‘

He threw the shave ice in her face, and she spluttered.

‘How dare you!’

Leanna jumped up and strode out of the café, in the direction the smugglers had gone. Bozer watched her go for a moment, doing an awesome bit of acting if he said so himself, pretending to suddenly come to his senses before following.

‘Baby, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, baby, come on, talk to me…’

* * *

**CHASE AND LILLIAN BATEMAN’S HOTEL ROOM**

**HAWAII**

* * *

‘I’m sorry, baby…’

Bozer held out an extra towel he’d convinced the housekeeper to give him as Leanna walked out of the shower, and she accepted it gratefully, wrapping it around her wet hair.

(A couple of other towels were discarded on their bathroom’s floor, stained red and yellow with the dyes in the flavoured syrups on what was supposed to be Leanna’s apology-dessert.)

She smiled, and leaned over to kiss Bozer sweetly.

‘Thanks, snugglebear.’ Her smile turned lightly teasing. ‘For the towel, and the dessert.’ Bozer looked rather sheepish at that, and like he was about to apologize, so Leanna leaned over to kiss him again, resting her forehead against his. ‘It’s the thought that counts.’

* * *

**AN ALLEYWAY**

**LA**

* * *

One of the Phoenix’s vans had come screeching up to the pavement about as fast as Mac thought was possible, even using his traffic-avoidance algorithm. Riley had hopped out of the front passenger seat, her rig in a pack on her back, while Matty and Beth had been in the back of the van. The doctor had quickly examined his dad (who had regained consciousness, but seemed generally unresponsive) and loaded him onto the stretcher in the van, strapping him in for transport efficiently. Matty, meanwhile, had conferred with Jack, Desi and Mac.

Now, Matty and Beth were preparing to take his dad back to the Phoenix, while Jack, Desi and Riley were bundling Donaldson’s associate into their vehicle to take him back to that empty warehouse for interrogation.

And Mac was standing on the pavement, almost paralysed, as two priorities conflicted with one another. The mission. His dad. Work. Family. Saving innocents and advancing the cause of world peace. Protecting, defending and being there for his loved ones.

Two life missions. Currently incompatible.

(He was usually able to balance the two, but at the moment, he simply couldn’t…)

‘Blondie, you coming?’

Matty’s voice broke through the loops of thought in his brain. It was genuinely a question. No orders, no swaying him one way or the other.

(She trusted him to be able to compartmentalize, to do the job if he had to, if he decided that he had to, and she trusted the team to keep his head on straight and help him out if he stumbled, to cover for him if needed.)

(She also trusted the team to manage without him. She’d had her doubts when Mac had dramatically quit and moved to rural Nigeria – Jack had been the only truly combat-trained and tested member of the team then, and he’d been way off his game. With Desi around, and Jack back at his peak, things were different this time ‘round.)

Mac glanced at his dad’s prone form, Beth talking quietly to him, trying to get a proper response, before glancing at Jack and Riley and Desi.

‘Go on, son.’

‘He’s your dad.’

‘We’ll handle it.’

Mac took a deep breath, and got into the back of the van, but not before locking eyes with Jack, then Riley, then Desi.

‘ _Thank you._ ’

He knew Jack would understand exactly how much was in those two words. He was almost-certain that Riley would too, and he dearly hoped that Desi got it as well.

From the little smiles and nods and looks he got back, he was sure they did.

* * *

**CHASE AND LILLIAN BATEMAN’S HOTEL ROOM**

**HAWAII**

* * *

‘Baby, is this really necessary?’ Bozer eyed the itinerary that Leanna was putting together for the Batemans’ honeymoon’s second day. It was planned down to the nearest fifteen minutes. ‘It’s a honeymoon, not a military op!’

Leanna arched an eyebrow at him in between planning out their afternoon, which was heavy on surveillance, collating Trip Advisor and Yelp reviews and combining that with their intel on the smugglers. A plausible honeymoon that also allowed proper surveillance so that they could plan out a capture was _hard_. There was an annoyed note in her voice as a result – this was not trivial, it was important, and Bozer’s constant interruptions (he wasn’t much help with this sort of thing, in Leanna’s opinion) were not helping.

‘This _is_ an op, Bozer. This is _not_ a real honeymoon.’

Bozer managed to bite back the retort he had ( _‘is there ever gonna be a real honeymoon, since you won’t meet my family or introduce me to yours?_ ’), but too much of it probably showed in his face, because Leanna turned away, looking a little hurt and refocusing on her work.

Bozer sighed internally.

* * *

**INFIRMARY**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…Jim, you collapsed while chasing down a suspect due to exhaustion and strain. You were unconscious for almost five minutes and unresponsive for another fifteen.’ Beth narrowed her eyes at the older MacGyver, who was propped up against a stack of pillows in bed, an IV in his arm. ‘You are staying in bed, on an IV and _resting_ until I give you medical clearance to do otherwise!’

To emphasize that, she stuck a pair of _Dora the Explorer_ Band-Aids in an X over his IV’s entry point, having re-inserted it after he’d pulled it out while she’d been briefly distracted convincing Mac to go take a shower.

Jim sighed, but remained laying on his pillows, eyeing the IV and the _Dora the Explorer_ Band-Aids with distaste. Still looking grumpy, but also very resigned, he reached for the toast with a thin layer of strawberry jam on it that was sitting on the nightstand next to his head and took a bite, which made Beth smile, before she sat down in a chair next to him, narrowing her eyes at him again, like she was watching him to prevent an escape attempt.

Jim sighed again, but took another bite of toast when she arched an eyebrow at him.

Mac, who was just heading for the showers, a towel and some toiletries in hand (they’d been left on a nearby chair – Beth had pointed at them very firmly when she’d essentially ordered him to go take a shower, so he assumed that she’d obtained them for him from somewhere), gave a little head-shake and a smirk as he ducked out of the infirmary, determined to take a very quick shower and be back at his dad’s bedside ASAP.

_I gotta admit, it’s nice to be on the other side._

_Schadenfreude. I’m only human, after all…as Beth likes to remind me and Dad when we try and escape the infirmary after getting thrown through a plate glass window, or return to the Phoenix after not sleeping for forty-eight hours, or admit that we’ve not had a meal in…well, far too long._

_Yeah, Boze is really, really happy to have an ally in the Care and Feeding of MacGyvers._

_What?_

_You think I didn’t know he’s writing that book?_

_Boze is my best friend._

_Besides, he’s a lot of things, but subtle really isn’t one of them._

* * *

**WAREHOUSE**

**LA**

* * *

‘…alright, buddy, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.’ Jack tossed Donaldson’s associate into the emptied-out office of the warehouse none too gently, locked the door behind him, and then cracked his knuckles. He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Your choice.’

Jack cracked his knuckles again.

* * *

Meanwhile, Desi was rummaging through the backpack that the man had been carrying when they’d caught him.

A sandwich, half a pack of gum, a disgustingly melted chocolate bar…and a wad of cash, as well as a hunting knife.

Desi pulled the knife out of its sheath and studied it, before grabbing the Phoenix forensics kit (which was apparently so easy to use, Jack could do it) and swabbing the knife.

* * *

At the same time, Riley sat on the warehouse floor, leaning against a large crate and typing rapidly, her laptop connected to their prisoner’s phone.

Suspiciously, there was a whole section – some texts, a couple of files – that were heavily encrypted.

Riley gave a little smirk, and got to work unencrypting them.

* * *

She finished just as Desi looked up from where she was comparing the colour of some liquid in a plastic test-tube to a chart, and just as Jack walked out of the repurposed office, dusting off his knuckles exaggeratedly.

‘I got something!’

‘Got something.’

‘I’ve got something.’

They all spoke at once. Desi and Jack gestured for Riley to go first.

‘Ladies first, Ri.’

Riley turned her laptop around, an address marked on Google Maps.

‘Got an address for Donaldson’s hide-out. Above a restaurant in Santa Monica.’

Jack pointed at her.

‘That restaurant a burger joint called Duffy’s?’

Riley nodded, just as Desi gave the test-tube she was holding a little shake.

‘Explains the cholesterol levels in the blood I found on our guest’s knife.’ She jumped up quickly. ‘We’ve got ourselves a stakeout. _Yay_.’

The way Desi said it, she thought a stakeout was anything but yay.

It took Jack a moment longer than Riley to parse it.

‘I’m checking hospitals now just in case…’

‘Donaldson was attacked by his buddy; he’s gonna have to lay low for a little while…’

* * *

**TWO HOURS LATER**

**DODGY MOTEL ROOM**

**ACROSS THE ROAD FROM DUFFY’S BURGER BAR**

* * *

‘…aww, come on, can’t we go down real quick and grab a couple of burgers? I’ll throw in some extra bacon, on me!’ As Jack grumbled and argued, Desi, who was keeping an eye on Donaldson’s window using a pair of binoculars, rolled her eyes, while Riley, on her laptop and monitoring local CCTV, reached into her bag and pulled out one of the cereal bars Beth had given her, tossing it at Jack’s head. He caught it reflexively. ‘Oh, come on! This ain’t a juicy burger with extra bacon, Ri!’ She shot him a _look_ , since that was _obvious._ ‘It ain’t even a good substitute!’ Jack ripped off the wrapper and took a bite of the choc-chip cereal bar. ‘This ain’t even strawberry yogurt!’

* * *

**INFIRMARY**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Mac sat on a chair by his dad’s bedside in the middle of the night, as the older man slept, reasonably peacefully. He toyed with his Swiss Army knife, having already creased the wrapper on the cereal bar Beth had given him hundreds of times, and crumbled the mouthful of crust leftover from his turkey and salad sandwich into tiny crumbs.

He heard footsteps, and then, the curtain around his dad’s bed parted, and in came Beth, holding her tablet. She glanced at him, still sitting in the chair, wide awake, sighed in a way that could only be described as very exasperated (she’d been trying to convince him to get some sleep on the cot she’d set up, but Mac didn’t feel like sleeping), and busied herself examining his dad, checking the readings on the machines by his bedside.

When she was done, not wanting to disturb her work, Mac spoke.

‘Is he going to be okay?’

The doctor made that exasperated sound again, rubbing her temple with her free hand.

‘He collapsed purely out of exhaustion, so in the short-term, yes.’ Beth paused. ‘However, he continues to insist on doing far more than someone undergoing his level of chemotherapy should be, against _all medical advice_.’ She gave an exasperated and long-suffering sigh yet again, a note of wryness in her voice. ‘But he’s a MacGyver.’

Mac raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Which means?’

He wasn’t all that sure he wanted to know, but Mac was way too curious for his own good, always had been.

‘Stubborn, determined, absurdly brave, and will do absolutely anything to protect people and save lives. Including sacrificing your own happiness, health and even life.’

It was said with a mixture of fond exasperation, worry and admiration, all at once.

That was a high compliment. A very high compliment indeed. Mac was pretty sure his ears, thankfully hidden under his hair, were pink, and he smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly.

‘And also overly-resistant to medical care?’

Beth glanced between the two MacGyvers, the look on her face best described as long-suffering yet fond, the nodded, a wry little smile on her face.

‘Unfortunately, yes.’ She looked over at his nearly-unrecognizably folded cereal bar wrapper, and the remnant crumbs of his sandwich, and how he was still toying with his Swiss Army knife, tilting her head a little to the left. ‘I’ll be back in about ten minutes.’ She smiled rather teasingly, in a way that made her look even younger, and gestured with her head at his dad. ‘Please keep an eye out for any escape attempts.’

That made him give a little chuckle, despite himself, as she ducked back around the curtain.

* * *

She came back about ten minutes later, true to her word, a blanket over her shoulder and carrying a sandwich on a plate, as well as a kidney dish of paperclips.

Quite deliberately, she put the latter two items down on his dad’s nightstand, and held out the blanket to Mac, narrowing her eyes at him. Obediently, he took it and wrapped it around his shoulders, only noticing then that the infirmary had gotten a little chilly. Then, she held out the sandwich to him (cheese, ham and tomato, toasted).

‘It’s been six hours since you ate something, Mac.’

He had been about to protest that he wasn’t hungry, but apparently, all his stomach had needed was a reminder that it had been six hours since he’d eaten that turkey and salad sandwich, because it rumbled. Loudly. Beth looked an awful lot like she was suppressing a giggle, and Mac just smiled sheepishly and took a bite of the sandwich. When half the sandwich was gone, surprisingly quickly, Beth handed him the kidney dish of paperclips, but not before narrowing her eyes at him.

‘If any of these show up in your dad’s escape attempts…’

‘There will be consequences, which we will not like.’ He was pretty sure those consequences would be revocation of infirmary paperclip privileges, and more _Dora the Explorer_ Band-Aids, which neither MacGyver would be happy about. He smiled up at her as he picked up a paperclip, shaping it into the ECG line on the monitor next to his dad. ‘Thanks, Beth.’

She smiled back at him and ducked back around the curtain.

* * *

Jim woke up suddenly, to a quiet infirmary. He glanced at the chair to his side, where Angus had been sitting when he’d fallen asleep, to find it empty, as his son was fast asleep in a cot next to the chair, looking peaceful and young in a way that tugged at his heartstrings and brought up a regret or two.

Jim smiled to himself. He had absolutely no idea how Beth had managed that.

Angus’s weakness for intelligent, beautiful, strong women had probably helped.

He turned his head again to glance at his watch on his nightstand, which showed that it was 4:37 am.

A beat later, as he tried to sit up, Beth burst through the curtains.

(Seriously, Jim had no idea how she did that. He could practically hear Ellen laughing in his head.)

(His wife and his young friend would have gotten along like a house on fire. He would have been screwed.)

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him, and Jim sighed and relaxed back against his pillows. Beth pressed a couple of buttons on the control for his infirmary bed, and he was brought up into a sitting position, without his abdominal muscles protesting.

‘Do you want something to eat, Jim?’

He considered for a moment, then shook his head. He was a little nauseous at that moment.

Beth seemed to accept that, but made a note on her tablet, and Jim had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to have glucose in his next bag of IV fluids.

She busied herself checking the monitors and making notes for a couple of minutes, and Jim turned his head to watch Angus, who had started muttering in his sleep about hippogriffs and the mathematics behind the Fourier transform as applied to nuclear magnetic resonance spectroscopy.

Even in his sleep, science was his passion.

Those regrets hit him again.

When Beth was finished, he glanced over at her again.

‘Do…do you think I did the right thing, recruiting him?’

This life was dangerous, after all, and cost one so much, required so many sacrifices.

Beth blinked twice, a little surprised by the question, but she sat down on Mac’s vacated chair, carefully considering.

‘I…I don’t know, Jim.’ She paused. ‘It’s cost him an awful lot, as far as I can tell…’ At least two relationships that she knew of, and friends he considered family. ‘But even if you hadn’t recruited him, Mac would likely still be an EOD tech, most likely Spec Ops by now.’ That, Jim thought, was true. He couldn’t imagine his son willingly giving up helping people, protecting people. He’d dramatically quit his job once, yes, but then moved to rural Nigeria and set about making life better for a little village. And in this hypothetical universe, Angus’s life would still be regularly endangered. Beth raised a shoulder. ‘And if Mac were a civilian…well, he’d still run towards danger, not away from it, and in this country...it’d likely increase his mortality, without the support of the Phoenix.’

Jim nodded, recognizing the truth of her words.

Angus, no matter what his job was, would always be one of those people who ran towards gunshots, not away from them, in order to try and help, to try and save people.

And without Jack and Desi and the Phoenix at his back, he was far more likely to be shot himself.

He glanced at his son again, then back at Beth, a wry look on his face.

‘That decision was not good for my blood pressure.’

Beth gave a little smile, then gestured at Angus with her head, speaking seriously but gently.

‘You should tell him that.’

Jim looked up at her.

(He knew he wasn’t very good at showing affection, at letting Angus know he loved him and was proud of him. It’d been rather…disastrous…after Mason’s attack on the Phoenix, after all, when he’d butchered those words.)

(Advice and nudging helped.)

‘I will.’

* * *

**DONALDSON’S HIDEOUT ABOVE DUFFY’S BURGER BAR**

**LA**

* * *

‘…this is a terrible plan!’

Desi jumped over Donaldson’s coffee table, and kicked the man hard in the abdomen. Jack caught him as he stumbled by his wounded arm, and swung him around, before head-butting him.

‘Hey, I’m offended, Dez! You never say that ‘bout Mac’s!’

Desi rolled her eyes as Donaldson stumbled towards the door, pulling off a pretty handy trick that all three of them knew with the door to block them from following him. Instead, she hurried to the window and opened it wide, putting a foot on the window frame.

‘I expect better from you!’

She jumped out the window, landing on the old mattress they’d placed in the alleyway earlier, rolling to disperse her momentum. Jack followed her, and the two of them sprinted to the bottom of the stairs, just in time to see Riley swinging an old piece of metal piping at the startled, shocked Donaldson’s head, causing him to drop to the ground like a bag of potatoes…exactly as planned.

Jack smirked.

‘It worked!’

Desi and Riley rolled their eyes.

* * *

**ISOLATED BEACH**

**HAWAII**

* * *

‘…if we had just stuck to the plan, this would not have happened!’

Leanna, hauling one of the two drug smugglers, who was unconscious, across the sand behind her as she walked, glared at Bozer as she wiped sweat off her brow with one hand, then returned it to the man’s collar.

He was _heavy_.

Bozer, who was also boiling under the hot Hawaiian sun, hefted his own unconscious smuggler across a small rock buried in the sand, and glared back.

‘You mean _your_ plan! And if we had stuck to that plan, we’d be dead!’

Leanna usually prided herself on her maturity, but she was hot and sticky and tired and she’d nearly died just then and this damn smuggler was heavy, and getting that syrup out of her hair had been a pain, and this just hadn’t been a good mission, so she retorted, letting her temper get the better of her.

‘No we wouldn’t! You nearly got us killed-‘

‘I saved our lives!’

‘Did not!’

‘Did too!’

* * *

**INFIRMARY**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…you’re embarrassing yourself, Angus.’

Jim watched from his hospital bed as Mac and Beth (officially on break) played a game of chess. His son had decided to be a gentleman and go easy on her, initially, a mistake he was now paying for. Dearly.

Beth grinned, half-sheepish, half-mischievous and teasing, raising a shoulder as she moved her queen.

‘I did tell you not to go easy on me. Checkmate.’

Mac shook his head, but grinned back, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

‘Lesson learned.’

At that moment, Matty stuck her head around the curtain.

‘Is Jim allowed visitors, Lil’ Doc?’

Beth smiled and nodded.

‘Of course!’ Her smile turned wry, and she addressed Jim. ‘More visitors equates with less boredom, and hence a lower likelihood of escape attempts…’

Jim snorted.

‘I might escape just to get away from Jack’s incessant chatter-‘

From behind the curtain, there was a loud reply in a familiar voice.

‘Hey, I take offence to that, Mac Daddy! It ain’t innecessant, I gotta lot of important life lessons to pass on-‘

‘Incessant-‘

‘-Not innecessant-‘

‘-which isn’t a word-‘

‘-you mean unnecessary, Dalton-‘

‘Besides, your stories never have a point, Jack.’

Beth looked a little bit dumbfounded, as the curtain parted, and in strode Riley, Desi and Jack, the latter still looking very grumpy and muttering under his breath about everyone ganging up on him.

Mac didn’t blame her; they’d all been oddly in-sync just then.

They were clearly spending way too much time with one another.

_But I wouldn’t have it any other way._

_And Jack might grumble, but I don’t think he would either._

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN**

**ON-ROUTE TO LA**

* * *

Leanna and Bozer sat opposite one another in the jet, tired and sweaty and silent. Their argument had finally fizzled out, but that tension and weirdness in the air hadn’t gone away, far from it.

It was worse, now, and Bozer realized suddenly with startling clarity, like the protagonists in his movie scripts always did, that the writing was on the wall.

He was about to open his mouth to say something, but Leanna beat him to it.

‘This isn’t working out, Bozer.’

There was no question mark at the end of her words. It was a statement, not a question, not up for discussion.

That hurt, it really, really hurt…but it also makes things easier.

Bozer nodded slowly, a lump in his throat that made it hard to get the words out.

‘Yeah.’

His attempt to get them to move in together, their fight over where to spend Christmas, heck, maybe even the big gun she pulled out all the way back at spy school in that interrogation test…he and Leanna, he’d just realized, simply didn’t quite fit together, and none of the sanding and wear-and-tear and bonding on the job they’d been through was going to fix that.

Leanna nodded, swallowing like her own throat was full of molasses.

‘We should see other people.’

Bozer just nodded sadly.

(He had _so, so_ hoped, had _believed_ , even that Leanna was The One.)

‘That’d be best for both of us.’

Leanna just nodded.

* * *

The rest of the flight passed in awkward silence, but when they’d landed and the jet had parked, Leanna got up, took her wheeled suitcase’s handle in one hand, and strode towards the door.

But on her way, she stopped by his side briefly, put a hand on his shoulder, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned over and kissed his cheek gently.

‘All the best, Bozer.’

That was definitely a goodbye.

Bozer managed a weak, but genuine smile.

‘You too, Leanna.’

She gave a little nod and a weak, but genuine smile in return, then walked out the door.

He watched her get into the car waiting on the tarmac, and walked up the front to talk to the pilot.

Scoot was always good for a chat.

‘Mind if I ride back with you?’

* * *

**33 HOURS LATER**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘Come on, Dalton, that the best you got?’

Desi smirked teasingly at Jack as he looked up at her from where he’d just landed hard on the mat. He, too, smirked back as he got back up on his feet, taking a ready stance.

‘Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet, Dez. Munoz taught me this killer new move-‘

Without breaking his chatter, Jack, instead of blocking or dodging Desi’s roundhouse kick, grabbed her ankle and pulled, unbalancing her as she had to move with him to avoid injury. Moving faster than a man of his size and age should be able to, he then grabbed her by the arm and flipped her.

She landed on the mats as hard as he had with a satisfying thud, before bouncing up quickly in a way that made his knees ache and him jealous, taking her own ready stance, still smirking.

‘Two-all.’ Desi tilted her head a little to the side. ‘First to five, loser buys drinks?’

Jack grinned.

‘You’re on, Dez.’

* * *

 

* * *

Leanna raised her hand to knock on the door of Matty’s office, but before she could, she heard her boss’s voice call, ‘come in!’

(That remained a little spooky and disturbing, which Leanna was sure Matty did on purpose to keep them on her toes…and because she enjoyed keeping them on their toes.)

She opened the door and walked in.

Matty was sitting at her desk, holding out a file stamped ‘top secret’ and ‘classified’.

‘Long-term solo assignment in eastern Europe. Timeline’s six months, and you’re the best fit for the job.’

Leanna took the file with a smile. Matty had, of course, known exactly what she needed before she’d even asked for it.

‘Thanks.’

Matty smiled back at her, small and a little wan and sad and sympathetic. Unguarded.

‘Take care, Leanna.’

* * *

**THE GANG’S FAVOURITE SKEEBALL PLACE**

**LA**

* * *

‘Is that all you’ve got, Boze?’

Riley, who was absolutely kicking Bozer’s ass in Skeeball, put a hand on her hip and cocked an eyebrow at him.

(She’d dragged him out for Skeeball after work, but not before texting Leanna that they were going to grab brunch tomorrow before she left for that mission in eastern Europe Matty had asked her to run some last-minute intel for.)

(It was hard, being friends with both of them, but Riley was going to do her absolute best to remain a good friend to both Bozer and Leanna, to be there for them.)

Bozer, being Bozer, looked down at the ball in his hand, doubtlessly recalling his lame previous throw, and the one before that, and the one before that. Then, he looked up at Riley, drew himself up to his full height, and shook his head rather dramatically.

‘No, Riley, no it isn’t!’

He was laying it on way too thick, but that was Bozer, so it was a good sign. Riley smirked and lined up her shot.

‘Good, because loser’s buying pizza.’ She tossed the ball, which went into the centre hole. Again. Riley smirked wider. ‘And not that grease-covered stuff that Jack likes, the DOC Margherita down the block that you wrote a blog post on!’

Bozer’s face covered several emotions in sequence. Something grateful and affectionate, then an _aww, man_ expression as he realized Riley was probably going to win, then complete and utter shock.

‘How do you know about my super-secret food blog?’

Riley snorted and crossed her arms and shot him a _look._

‘Firstly, you called it movie-magician-n-waffle-wizard. Secondly, the blog _always_ updates a couple of days after we try some cool new place, and it’s always about that cool new place. Thirdly…I’m me.’

Bozer considered that for a moment, before sighing and pointing at her.

‘Okay, okay, you’re awesome.’ He smiled, and Riley grinned. Bozer then held out a pinky. ‘But you gotta pinky-promise not to tell anyone!’

Riley shook her head, but reached out and hooked her pinky around Bozer’s anyway.

‘Deal.’

* * *

**JAMES MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

Jim, Mac and Beth walked into Jim’s living room, and with a _look_ from the young woman, the older MacGyver took a seat on his couch, while the younger put down his dad’s go-bag and pulled out the items of dirty laundry inside, taking them to the laundry room and starting a load of laundry.

When he got back to the living room, his dad was sipping a glass of apple juice, while Beth was holding two. She held one out to him and he took it with a smile, sitting down in the armchair while Beth sat down on the couch next to his dad.

‘Thanks, Beth.’ He took a sip of apple juice. ‘I think Dad and I owe you one; you put up with two terrible patients for forty-eight hours.’

She smiled, cheeks flushing a little, and raised a shoulder somewhat awkwardly.

‘It’s my job description, quite literally.’

Jim chipped in wryly.

‘Matilda has an interesting sense of humour.’

Beth shook her head.

‘Seriously, I don’t need any kind of thanks.’

Mac just smiled easily.

‘Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve one.’ He took another sip of apple juice. ‘I’ll cook you and Dad a steak dinner.’

She raised a shoulder again, and looked half-sheepish, half-teasing.

‘I’ve, uh, been warned not to eat anything you cook, especially meat prepared on a grill…’

Mac looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. To be fair, it was a decent warning, given his history.

‘Jack?’

Beth nodded.

‘Jack.’

He raised his hands.

‘In my defence, part of the reason is he likes his steak practically mooing…’

‘Well, it actually wasn’t just Jack, it was also…well…’

Beth trailed off, and Mac sighed and shook his head with a smile on his face that was half-self-deprecating, and half-fondly exasperated.

‘Everyone else?’ Beth nodded, and he continued. ‘Dad and I will _buy_ you a steak dinner.’ Mac pointed at his dad. ‘What do you say, Dad, steak dinner?’

Jim smiled wryly.

‘As long as you’re not cooking, son.’

* * *

_Okay, I guess I deserved that one._

_But still, contrary to popular belief, I can cook. Cooking is just applied edible chemistry, it’s really not that difficult._

_There’s just so much fascinating science involved that I tend to get distracted…until the fire alarm goes off._

_Yeah. It drives Boze crazy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mac being able to cook but getting distracted is my personal headcanon for explaining why he apparently can’t cook, despite being a master chemist. (If you can do chemical synthesis, you can cook food, it’s just with different ingredients!) I hope you guys enjoyed that ep, and find the Bozer/Leanna break-up to be in-character and respectful to both of them. I have mixed feelings about Leanna – I don’t dislike her, she’s just poorly developed compared to other characters and hence not interesting. I’m not much of a fan of Bozer/Leanna as an endgame relationship – I don’t think they fit together properly. My gut feeling is that the show won’t go with Bozer/Leanna as endgame after the moving-in-together thing, but at the same time, I don’t think they’ll do Bozer/Riley either, after they declared themselves to be siblings last season. 
> 
> There’s no episode tag for this ep, but here’s the press release for the next one:
> 
> 4.13, Clashing/Complimentary. Mac takes some of the Phoenix’s newer recruits on wilderness survival training, which goes unexpectedly wrong, again. Also, Jack, Bozer and Riley go undercover to break a smuggling ring in Wisconsin that’s using cheese for evil.


	13. Clashing/Complementary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac takes some of the Phoenix’s newer recruits on wilderness survival training, which goes unexpectedly wrong, again. Also, Jack, Bozer and Riley go undercover to break a smuggling ring in Wisconsin that’s using cheese for evil.

**A SMALL TOWN**

**WISCONSIN**

* * *

Riley, her arm linked with Bozer’s, who was gazing at her, utterly besotted, strode into the cottage marked ‘Reception’. The two of them were followed by Jack, who was muttering under his breath and complaining about his little girl’s boyfriend’s job as an accountant.

(Apparently, it was boring.)

Riley shot her ‘dad’ a _look_ at the last, as if she was pointing out that he’d complained endlessly about the _last_ boyfriend she’d had, whose employment as a bounty hunter was too exciting.

Then, she turned to the little old lady who was sitting at the wooden, old-fashioned desk and smiled.

‘Hi, my boyfriend and I-‘ Jack coughed and Riley rolled her eyes. ‘-and my dad, have a reservation under Carlton?’

The old lady looked rather sympathetically at Riley as she checked them in, and correspondingly shot Jack a dirty look.

(Internally, Jack sighed. Why did he always have to play the overbearing bad-guy-standing-in-the-way-of-true-love dad in this cover?)

* * *

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

**NEAR THE BORDER WITH WASHINGTON**

* * *

Desi drove the Jeep steadily north, tapping out some kind of pattern on the steering wheel with a finger.

Beside her, Mac glanced at the back seat via the rear-view mirror. Matty had asked him to lead another session of wilderness survival training, taking the Phoenix’s four newest recruits.

(He doubted that Desi needed the training – she’d been an Army Ranger, after all – but it couldn’t do her any harm.)

The other three ‘new’ recruits sat in the back seat. Beth was in the middle, tying a series of very complex knots in a length of rope. (He knew she’d already memorized a series of wilderness survival books that he and his dad had recommended, so it was just a matter of applying theory to practice.) On her left was one of the Phoenix’s new techs, recent CalTech graduate Timothy Gemcity, twenty-four, who was no relation to the famous author of the _Deep Six_ series. Tim was reciting information he’d read online about wilderness survival under his breath, while also glaring at the man sitting on Beth’s right: James Di Nardo, former Navy SEAL, twenty-seven, who was staring out the window and glaring at Tim in turn over Beth’s head.

Mac sighed internally, well aware of the fact that he was going to have to keep an eye on those two.

(Idly, he wondered when the Phoenix’s new recruits had started becoming _younger_ than him. He’d be twenty-nine soon enough, and he was well aware that was far from being old – he worked with Jack, after all – but still. It was…unsettling, slightly.)

He also shot Beth a sympathetic look, knowing it was not fun being stuck between two people who’d had their sixth argument for the trip at their last gas stop.

She just smiled back wryly, raising a shoulder and continuing to practice her knot-tying.

Mac smiled and shook his head, returning to staring into the distance and going over the details for this year’s course.

_Beth’s patience seems to be infinite, or close to it._

_I mean, she puts up with my dad. And me._

_I’m self-aware enough to know that I’m a terrible patient. Jack tells me that I was a legend – and not in the good way – among the medics back in the Sandbox._

_And yes, I know what you’re thinking._

_Last year, wilderness survival training went really, really south._

_Don’t worry, this year, we’ve taken precautions._

_I’m not really one for plans, but I learned a lesson last year, don’t worry. Besides, did you think Desi and Beth would have allowed us to leave if we hadn’t taken precautions?_

_If not for the obvious, they’d have been far better Boy Scouts than me._

_So don’t worry. This year, we’re prepared for the highly unlikely event of kidnapping and/or gunshot wounds._

Mac had a sat-phone in the bottom of his pack, in a waterproof compartment. Desi had her service weapon in a corresponding compartment, as did James. Beth had a medical kit.

None of them were to be used except in an emergency of the scale that Mac, Bozer and Riley had experienced the year before, but they were prepared if the implausibly unlikely occurred again.

_I’m going to say it, because no matter what Jack argues, there’s no such thing as jinxes: this year, we’re going to have a perfectly ordinary three days of wilderness survival training._

* * *

**FREDDIE’S STORE**

**THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS**

**WASHINGTON**

* * *

Mac and Freddie, sitting on his porch swing with his banjo in his overalls as always, stared at one another, before they both grinned and chuckled and Freddie got up to embrace the blonde.

Mac looked over Freddie’s shoulder to see the other Phoenix agents’ reactions.

Desi had a little smirk on her face, like she’d known all along that he and Freddie were messing with them. Beth had an amused little grin on her face. Tim just looked extremely relieved, while James was imitating Desi, like he hadn’t been fooled, but was clearly bluffing.

The ex-Navy SEAL rolled his eyes at Tim, who still seemed to be trying to slow his heart rate. The action was clearly disdainful, and Mac sighed internally again.

_Yup, definitely going to need to keep a close eye on those two._

_I think it’s going to be a long three days._

* * *

**COSY COTTAGE**

**A SMALL TOWN**

**WISCONSIN**

* * *

Safely inside the cottage (which had been swept for bugs), Bozer and Riley sat at the dining table, Riley in front of her rig, Bozer with a file in front of him.

The Phoenix had discovered a group of very successful arms dealers whose operations seemed to be centred on this region of Wisconsin, but couldn’t work out how in the hell they were getting their shipments out without detection.

Bozer reached for his laptop and pulled it in front of him, displacing the file. He typed for a little while, before slumping back into his seat.

Nothing.

He sighed dramatically, before pointing at Riley.

‘You know who we need, Riley? The hero with a fur coat who can deliver us in our hour of need?’ Riley arched an eyebrow at Bozer’s sheer drama. ‘We need the dog with the nose of steel, we need Cody!’

Riley wasn’t so sure that Cody – as good as his nose was – could actually help them in this case, considering how many sniffer dogs must have been fooled by this smuggling ring, _somehow._

Then, a nearly-comical look of realization crossed Bozer’s face, in a way that was oddly reminiscent of Mac’s I-have-an-idea face.

He sat up straight and started typing frantically on his laptop.

At that moment, Jack wandered back from the kitchen, holding a cheese platter and popping a slice of cheese on a cracker in his mouth, then speaking with his mouth full.

‘Anyone want some cheese?’ That got him raised eyebrows. ‘Hey, when in Wisconsin, do what Wisconsiners do!’

* * *

**THE WILDERNESS**

**WASHINGTON**

* * *

Mac cut a whole swathe of cattails, grinning, before holding them out to the group around him.

‘The fast food of the wilderness!’ He bit into one. ‘240 of these a day will meet your energy requirements.’

Desi took one and bit into it, before speaking, her expression utterly deadpan.

‘Tastes like used Q-tips.’

Mac made a _huh_ face.

‘Riley said exactly the same thing…’ He blinked. ‘And how do you know what used Q-tips taste like?’

Desi took another bite of her cattail, expression not-quite-perfectly deadpan, a touch of a smirk on her face.

‘It’s classified.’

Beth took a couple of the cattails, raising her brows.

‘Jim warned me about these…’

Still, she bit into one, chewed and swallowed without complaint.

Meanwhile, James made a face as he finally took a pair of the cattails.

‘Why do we need to know about eating cattails?’ He crossed his arms. ‘We’re secret agents, not _Boy Scouts_!’

He said Boy Scouts with an awful lot of disdain.

Tim, who was chewing on his own cattails, straightened an imaginary neckerchief and stood at his full height, offended.

‘Oi! The Boy Scouts of America prepares young people to make ethical choices over their lifetimes-‘

‘Oh, spare me the lecture, _Prof-‘_

This was escalating way too fast. The two younger men were in each other’s faces, and Mac stepped between them, holding out a hand at each of them placatingly.

‘This is not the time, guys. We need to work together over the next three days.’ He paused to let that sink in, before continuing. ‘And yes, we’re not Boy Scouts, and we’re not frequently in these situations. But they _do_ happen, because _anything_ can happen in the field, and Boy Scout skills have saved my life and my teammates’ lives and innocent people’s lives many times.’

* * *

James and Tim exchanged a glance. It was far from friendly, but they fell silent and fell into step behind MacGyver, Agent Nguyen and Dr Taylor.

Agent MacGyver was a Phoenix legend. They were new, but even they knew that.

So they’d listen to him.

(In his head, James vented to himself, wondering why other science nerds couldn’t have some actual field and combat training – and _respect_ for field and combat training – like MacGyver.)

(And in his head, Tim wondered why cool, tough field-agent-types like MacGyver couldn’t also know science – or in MacGyver’s case, more than _know_ science – and allowed himself to entertain the fantasy of becoming an awesome, badass field agent with a brain that he actually _used_.)

* * *

**COZY COTTAGE**

**A SMALL TOWN**

**WISCONSIN**

* * *

‘Alright, Bozer, what’s this theory of yours?’

Matty, on Riley’s rig, put her hands on her hips and looked expectantly at Bozer. Jack and Riley, sitting on opposite sides of the dining table, looked at him too, and Bozer ignored the little flicker of nerves and grinned.

‘Cheese.’ Jack made a bit of a face, like he was confused, but passed Bozer a piece of cheese on a cracker from the plate he’d been eating off anyway. Bozer took it, but shook his head. ‘Thanks, but no, I mean, cheese!’ Matty, Riley and Jack all arched their eyebrows at Bozer, looking very sceptical and confused, like they thought he might have lost it. Jack actually opened his mouth to interrupt, but Bozer held up a finger. ‘The smugglers are using cheese – delicious, innocent cheese – for evil!’ That was said in typical Bozer dramatic fashion. ‘They use the scent of the cheese to block dogs’ noses! And who would be suspicious of huge shipments of cheese from Wisconsin?’

As to punctuate that, Bozer gestured at Jack’s cheese platter and the cheese on a cracker he was holding.

Over the top of Riley’s laptop, Jack and Riley exchanged a glance with arched eyebrows. Matty looked very sceptically at Bozer.

He knew his theory was crazy, but it did make sense, and besides, if you eliminated the impossible, whatever remained, however improbable had to be the truth!

They didn’t seem as convinced as he was (far from it), but Matty crossed her arms, and gestured with her head.

‘We have to get these guys. We haven’t got any other leads…so you’re going to investigate Cheese Boy’s theory.’

Bozer did a little fist-pump, only to get a death-glare from Matty. He hurriedly tucked his arm back at his side and tried to look professional, only to ruin it by clicking his heels together and giving her a military-style salute.

* * *

**THE WILDERNESS**

**WASHINGTON**

* * *

In a clearing in the woods, Mac sat in front of his own small, single-man shelter, which he’d built to demonstrate the techniques needed to his trainees.

On his left, Beth and Desi had made substantial progress on their shelter, working efficiently together. Desi was lashing together the last supports for their shelter, while Beth was making some fine, thin rope to lash the leaf-covered branches they were using for a roof and walls together.

Desi tightened the last knot, and leaned back to look at her handiwork, before calling out to Beth, a little grin on her face.

‘Hey, Doc, this look straight to you?’

Beth stood up, her rope still in hand, and tilted her head a little to the left, before smiling broadly.

‘Yes, it does.’

Desi strode over to grab some of Beth’s rope, and reached out a fist to bump it against the other woman’s, arching a brow expectantly and looking a little teasing, to Mac’s eyes. Beth giggled, and bumped her fist against Desi’s.

(There was some sort of inside joke there, Mac was sure, but he had no idea what it might be. He, Jack and Bozer were immensely curious about what happened at Girls’ Nights, but had enough of a sense of self-preservation to not attempt to eavesdrop or sneak in.)

As Beth and Desi worked on the roof of their shelter, Mac turned his attention to the pair on his right.

In contrast, Tim and James hadn’t made much progress at all. None of the four supports for their shelter were even up, and the two of them were quarrelling over two tall, thick branches secured at the top with some slightly-ragged rope.

‘…if we increase the angle slightly, it will increase the stability-‘

‘Physics, man, seriously? That’s all theoretical, it’s not gonna help-‘

‘Physics is not purely theoretical, it’s a valuable tool for design and construction-‘

Mac sighed internally and got up, walking over to the arguing men. He put a hand over the branches, stopping the tug-of-war that had started, in which James tried to pull the branches closer together, while Tim tried to widen the angle. He glanced at both of the trainees, doing his best to channel Matty the Hun’s glare.

‘Look, physics is important…’ He glanced from James to Tim. ‘…but theory isn’t everything.’ He adjusted the branches to the acute angle that James had wanted. ‘This will be unstable…’ He adjusted the branches again to Tim’s preferred angle, speaking before the analyst could start gloating. '...but given the height of the branches you’ve got, this will give you impractically low head room.’ He shifted the branches again to an intermediate angle, locked eyes with the two of them in turn, trying to channel Jack imparting wisdom, teaching the young ‘uns a lesson. ‘You’ve got to compromise.’

* * *

**COZY COTTAGE**

**A SMALL TOWN**

**WISCONSIN**

* * *

Bozer cracked his fingers, then got typing, chasing up cheese sales using a bunch of records Riley had ‘obtained’ for him.

He was looking for really, really big orders that were going to the same places that the weapons kept showing up...the records loaded, and his jaw dropped.

He knew Wisconsin exported a lot of cheese.

But he hadn’t expected it to be quite so much.

Bozer seized the cheese platter, half-eaten, that Jack had left behind.

He was gonna need snacks. It was going to be a long, long night.

* * *

Meanwhile, Riley dug through the dark web, chasing something that she, in her many, many forays into the dark web (both government-sanctioned and not), had never had to search for.

Cheese.

She shook her head with a snort.

There was never a boring day at the Phoenix, that was for sure.

And this crazy didn’t even have Mac involved.

* * *

Jack strode into the cottage, having been at a cheese night market in town, his arms full of bags of cheese.

(He’d been undercover, trying to see if there was anything fishy going on, or if anyone seemed dodgy.)

‘I got snacks!’ Riley arched an eyebrow at him as he unloaded an awful lot of cheese, as if saying, _how much did you spend?_ Jack waved a hand. ‘Don’t worry, Phoenix’s paying!’

From Riley’s laptop, Matty’s voice rang out, startling Jack into dropping a wheel of thankfully-wrapped brie.

‘Save some for me, Jack, or I’ll tell Jan not to reimburse you.’

Jack’s hand flew to his wallet, which was probably feeling the pain of blowing way too much on way too much cheese, before setting aside the wheel of brie.

‘Don’t worry, Matty, I picked up a real good selection for you, you didn’t think I’d forget, didya?’

* * *

**THE WILDERNESS**

**WASHINGTON**

* * *

‘…and that is the Draco constellation.’

Mac, sitting on a log by their fire, pointed out the relevant stars as he finished his star-identification lesson. (Navigation was the next night’s lesson, but familiarity with the stars was needed first.)

Across the fire, Desi kicked back and lay down on the log she was sitting on, pillowing her head on her hands, staring up at the sky. Mac could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke.

‘This is relaxing.’

Mac smiled in return, and glanced around the rough circle around the fire.

On his right hand side, Beth was looking up at the sky, head tilted to the left, a fascinated, almost-little-girl look on her face. It was the same one she got when he or his dad brought up something particularly interesting over lunch or in the lab, or when he’d shown her his mathematical proof for the plausibility of Santa’s existence, or his dad had explained exactly how her vacuum cleaner had been repurposed to make a security system.

Tim was sitting on his left side, and seemed to be practically vibrating with excitement as he muttered constellation names to himself, pointing out the stars. He flushed when he caught Mac looking at him.

‘You’re _awesome_!’

He flushed further, as Mac’s ears reddened and he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Uh, thanks.’

On Tim’s other side, James snorted derisively, fiddling with a stick, using it to scribble nonsensical patterns in the dirt.

‘This is boring, and how’s finding star patterns going to help us survive?’

For good or for ill, Mac was used to being questioned. His methods were unusual, and he was well aware that some of his ideas were pretty crazy.

Heck, his family questioned him from time-to-time. It was probably good for him.

But James’ tone wasn’t bewildered or confused or shocked or curious or teasing.

It was challenging, belligerent, in a way that reminded him of Donnie Sandoz, of various bullies he’d encountered throughout the years, of those rough early days in his and Jack’s partnership.

And like always, it stung. It hurt and it got his defences up, made his temper spike.

Still, he contained it, held it in and hid it well, remaining outwardly unperturbed.

(He noted in the back of his mind that even though Tim and James fell for it, Beth and Desi were unconvinced.)

‘You can use the stars to navigate.’

James shrugged dismissively.

‘It’s easier to use a GPS, or even a compass.’

Mac replied very seriously, looking pointedly at the younger agent.

‘Which you don’t always have.’

James seemed to realize that he’d lost, but he crossed his arms stubbornly and muttered half under his breath.

‘Still boring.’

Mac sighed internally.

* * *

**COZY COTTAGE**

**A SMALL TOWN**

**WISCONSIN**

* * *

Riley’s peaceful sleep was interrupted by loud beeping. She groaned and sat up, grabbing her phone off the nightstand.

Her five hours of sleep was up; it was time to get back to work.

She got up and headed to the kitchen/living/dining area for a quick breakfast, only to find Bozer already there, drinking a very large mug of coffee, looking like he hadn’t slept much, and staring into the distance.

Riley had a pretty good idea of what was bothering him. She walked over to the kitchen, and poured herself some coffee from the pot.

‘Bozer?’

He sighed, cupping his hands around his mug, before looking over at Riley.

‘I miss her.’

Heartbreak, Riley knew, was painful. Very, very painful.

No matter how things had ended.

Even if it had been mutual, and respectful, and about as painless as it could be.

It still really, really hurt.

There wasn’t really much she could say, but she reached out, put an arm around Bozer for a side-hug.

Then, she went to the fridge to start putting together some cheesy scramble.

(Omelettes remained beyond her, despite Bozer’s lessons.)

Cheese made just about everything better.

* * *

In no time at all, Bozer and Riley were sitting at the dining table, digging into steaming, cheesy scrambled eggs. Bozer lifted up his forkful, strands of cheese dangling from his fork, and took a large bite.

After he swallowed, he smiled at the hacker sitting opposite him, eating her own scramble in a slightly more elegant, slower way.

‘Thanks, Riley.’

She smiled back at him, just as Jack walked out of his own room, rubbing his eyes.

‘I smelled grub?’

Bozer and Riley laughed.

* * *

**THE WILDERNESS**

**WASHINGTON**

* * *

The next morning, Beth and Desi hiked a little way ahead of the three men, having been tasked with navigating for the morning.

It was honestly a relief to be away from Tim and James, who were crabby, tired and arguing constantly.

(Their shelter had collapsed in the middle of the night, and even Beth hadn’t been able to sleep through the resulting argument. That was saying a lot, because she could sleep just about any time, anywhere.)

The unceasing bickering grew louder and louder, and on some kind of instinct, Beth and Desi turned around from where they’d just reached the top of a small hill bordering an old river bed that now formed a ravine, looking down at the three at the bottom of the hill.

Tim and James were in each other’s faces again.

Poor Mac was trying to separate them, calm them down…which was _not_ going well.

James’ voice rose in volume as Mac grabbed his arm and pulled his hand off Tim, the former SEAL’s voice full of frustration and anger.

‘Come on, man, you’re always coming down hard on me and letting him off!’ He scoffed derisively. ‘You might be the Phoenix’s best agent, sure, but you’re just a _labcoat_ who’s escaped the lab!’

He said _labcoat_ the way some people said _cockroach_ or _aphids._

Beth and Desi exchanged a glance and started making their way back down the hill without having to discuss it.

Meanwhile, at the foot of the hill, Mac looked clearly offended, but held his temper in check.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of Tim, who looking extremely, extremely affronted, reached out and shoved James, who stumbled slightly, before shoving him back.

The two women exchanged another glance, then sped up their descent, no longer taking extreme care to not slip or lose their balance on the steep climb.

As Tim tried to punch James, who blocked the punch and turned it on the tech, Mac tried to step in again, doubtlessly aware of the perilously-close cliff edge, the drop into the ravine.

Unfortunately, the two warring trainees seemed to have lost awareness of their environment, because as Mac was shoved away by the combined but opposing efforts of the two of them, it was in the direction of said cliff edge.

And despite the fact that they were in complete opposition, they’d both shoved-thrown him from the same direction, so Mac was hit with a lot of force.

In less than a second, he tumbled over the cliff edge.

A second later, there was a very loud thud.

‘Mac!’

Beth and Desi called out, sprinting down the rest of the hill, as Tim and James came to their senses.

‘Oh _shit.’_

The two women ignored the pair of idiots, instead calling out again.

‘Mac!’

There was no response.

Reaching the edge of the cliff, Beth and Desi looked over the edge.

Mac was at the bottom, lying very still, blood matting his hair.

* * *

**COZY COTTAGE**

**A SMALL TOWN**

**WISCONSIN**

* * *

‘…Charlie’s Cheese Connoisseurs.’ Bozer brought up the website of a local cheese merchant, who purchased cheeses from farmers (a carefully curated selection, they claimed) distributing them across the US. ‘They buy a lot of cheese and _just happen_ to have all their shipments go to the same places as our arms dealers’ shipments, at suspiciously similar times…’

Riley turned her laptop around too.

‘And I have never heard of a cheese dealer who’s got a Dark Web presence.’

One of the higher-ups at Charlie’s had some other dodgy dealings, apparently.

‘And their service at the markets was sub-par. Didn’t know anything ‘bout the difference between brie and camembert, or edam and gouda!’ Jack sounded as if that was a criminal offence, and thumped his hand on the table. ‘Charlie, we’re on to you!’

* * *

**THE WILDERNESS**

**WASHINGTON**

* * *

Desi had her arms crossed and was glaring at Tim and James with restrained fury. Both of them, at least, looked contrite and cowed.

‘…with MacGyver incapacitated, I’m in charge.’ She locked eyes with both of them in turn. ‘And I will _not_ tolerate _any_ of what Mac did.’ She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘He’s too nice for his own good. I’m not.’

With that, Desi turned on her heel and called down the cliff to Beth. The doctor had a length of homemade rope wrapped around her waist and legs in a makeshift harness, the other end tied to a sturdy tree; Desi had wrangled Tim and James into lowering her down the cliff face to check on Mac.

‘Doc? Status update?’

Beth was kneeling by the still-unconscious Mac, her med-kit open next to her, tying off the stitches she was putting in his head wound.

(He was still out of it, but at least he had groaned when she’d palpitated his ribs, and when she’d started stitching, despite the local anaesthetic she’d applied.)

‘No signs of any spinal injuries, and the head wound is relatively shallow and minor; they simply bleed profusely. However, he’s got bruised ribs at the very least, I suspect some are fractured, and I am almost-certain he’s got a concussion.’ She sounded calm, but certainly concerned. Very concerned. Beth rummaged around in the pack that she’d carefully, gently removed from Mac’s back, and pulled out what looked like a mangled bundle of wires, broken plastic and bits of circuit boards. ‘…and even if he were conscious and non-concussed, I don’t think even Mac can repair the sat-phone.’

Desi allowed herself one curse out-loud, continuing the cursing in her head and drawing on all her experience, all her professionalism.

‘Okay, thanks, Doc.’ She gestured at Tim and James. ‘You two start making a stretcher, we’re going to need it to transport MacGyver.’ She looked up at the sky, then shook her head. ‘We’re too far away from Freddie’s to make it before nightfall.’ Especially since they’d have to carry Mac all the way. ‘We’ll shelter in those caves we passed half an hour back for the night.’

Desi hoped she was making the right decision. It was what her experience and her Ranger training told her was the right decision.

Desi knew she was badass, knew she was damn good at her job, one of the best in the world.

But she occasionally had doubts, and there were no bad guys to beat up here.

She was a little outside of her area of expertise.

Still, she pushed those doubts away, locked them up in her mind and threw away the key.

They needed her strong and in-charge.

Mac needed her strong and in-charge.

* * *

An hour later, they’d set themselves up in a dry cave. Desi finished checking on Tim and James, whom she’d ordered to collect firewood.

(She figured they could all do with a hot meal, and figured that broth of some kind was the best thing to feed Mac.)

(Thankfully they had their metal canteens, and Mac had taught them how to make bark bowls that morning.)

She turned, and walked back into the cave, where Mac was lying on a bed they’d made using pine needles and leaves.

He was conscious, having woken up while they’d been carrying him, but didn’t seem to be particularly cognizant, at least by his standards.

(Beth had given him the weirdest concussion test that Desi had ever seen. Apparently, he’d managed to get entropy and Gibbs free energy mixed up regarding the Second Law of Thermodynamics, his arithmetic wasn’t great, and he could only come up with four uses for body bags and bleach, so was definitely concussed.)

‘…how are the crystal field stabilization energies of octahedral and tetrahedral coordination complexes related?’

Beth was doing another test, apparently. Mac’s face contorted into his thinking-face, but unusually, he couldn’t seem to find the answer.

‘Uh…um…I…Beth, why can’t I…it’s just…’

The doctor smiled reassuringly and patted Mac’s shoulder.

‘It’s fine, Mac, you did better than the last one, which is a good sign. You’re concussed, this is very much normal.’ She squeezed his shoulder. ‘Try and get some rest.’

He was already drifting off, and Beth tucked her jacket over him, before getting up and walking over to Desi.

‘Will he be alright for the night?’

Desi never minced her words.

Beth glanced over at her, then back at her patient, and nodded.

‘It’s not ideal, but he’s stable.’ After a pause, Beth gave a very wry smile. ‘I cannot believe that wilderness survival training has gone spectacularly wrong for a second year running; the odds are _ridiculous_!’

Desi snorted and smiled a wry little smile in return.

Witty quips and banter and jokes, she knew very well, helped you and your team through the darkness, and were invaluable.

‘You gonna make him calculate them later, Doc?’

Beth just tilted her head to the left and smiled.

‘That, Desi, is an excellent idea.’

* * *

Desi, her arms full of cattails, and James, who was carrying several fish, as well as the fire-hardened wooden spear he’d used to catch them, hiked back towards the cave that they’d set up camp in.

Tim fell into step beside them, carrying a handful of rabbits and the remnants of the snares he’d set up.

James glanced over at the tech, arching an eyebrow.

‘You caught all that in those snares?’

Tim bristled a little, even though the tone wasn’t challenging or belligerent, but nodded.

‘Yeah.’ James made a noise that could be described as impressed, and Tim looked a little sheepish, recognizing the olive branch, the degree of respect there. He gestured at the fish. ‘You speared all of those?’

James nodded, offering the other man a small smile.

‘Yeah.’

Tim nodded.

‘Nice.’

Well, it was more awkward than Mac, but it was something, Desi thought.

* * *

**CHEESE FACTORY**

**ANOTHER SMALL TOWN**

**WISCONSIN**

* * *

‘I told you this was a terrible idea!’

Bozer, Riley and Jack ran through the cheese factory at top speed, running from the weapons smugglers who’d made them.

Their plan had gone wrong.

Again.

As it always did.

‘Whaddya mean? This always happens no matter how good the plan is!’

‘He’s got a point, you know!’

They ran past a room full of weird-looking tanks that made odd gurgling noises and had control panels with flashing lights.

‘Our boy would have a field day!’ Jack made his thinking-face. ‘Huh. I got an idea!’

* * *

**THE WILDERNESS**

**WASHINGTON**

* * *

In the middle of the night, Desi walked into the cave, crouched down beside James, fast asleep on the floor, and woke him for his watch. As the quickly-alert ex-SEAL headed outside to take up the watch, she stepped over Tim to the back of the cave, where Beth sat, keeping an eye on Mac, who seemed to be asleep and resting peacefully.

She crouched down next to the doctor and spoke quietly.

‘You sure you don’t need someone to spell you, Doc?’

Due to the head injury and their isolation, Mac needed someone to keep an eye on him all night, and wake him periodically.

Beth shook her head resolutely.

‘No, I’ve been taking cat-naps, and he needs to be monitored by someone with medical training.’

Desi nodded, accepting that. Head injuries were tricky, and none of the rest of them had anything more than first aid training. She reached out and squeezed the other woman’s shoulder.

‘Wake me if you need someone else to sit up with you.’

It was brusque and business-like in the way that was so very Desi, but Beth smiled warmly.

‘Thanks, Desi.’

* * *

The next time Beth woke him up for another concussion test, Mac’s head seemed a lot clearer.

At least, that’s what he thought, because he finally picked up on something that he surely should have noticed earlier.

Beth was sitting next to him with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them in a way that made her seem very young and very small. She shifted uncomfortably from time-to-time, glanced at the cave opening (which was rather small) and he caught something in her eyes that reminded him of that terrible day when Walsh had kidnapped her, used her as leverage.

Fear.

Dark, primal, experienced, _lived_ fear.

It was held in check, probably because she had a patient to look after, namely him, but it was definitely there.

He didn’t know if the others would catch it, but he definitely could.

‘Are you claustrophobic?’ The words came out before he could catch them. ‘I’m sorry, I-‘

He tried to shake his head, even just a little bit, but winced in pain, and Beth cut him off.

‘It’s okay, Mac. You don’t need to apologize.’ She paused, glanced at the cave opening again. ‘And yes, I’m claustrophobic.’

‘Is it lifelong, or acquired?’

Mac had no idea why those words came out either, but they did before he could catch them.

_As they say, curiosity killed the cat._

He had a hypothesis, and of course, he wanted to test it, as he always did.

Unfortunately, like he often did when he was caught up in a hypothesis or an idea, he forgot about little things, like manners.

He made an apologetic face, opened his mouth to say sorry, but Beth spoke before he could, a little smile on her face like she was thinking about curiosity and cats as well.

‘Acquired, unfortunately.’ She swallowed, staring at the cave opening, into the distance. Into her memories. Then, she spoke, voice small and sad. ‘The thing about double-taps is that they’re not clear or predictable. There’s no set amount of time to wait or some kind of protocol or…well, sometimes they wait for hours…or they wait until the first responders or the mourners or the neighbours show up.’ She swallowed. ‘Sometimes, we couldn’t wait to help.’ Her arms tightened around her legs. ‘There was a family living in a single room of what used to be a very expensive house. A compound, really. Mom, dad, three kids, grandma.’ She swallowed again, still lost in the past. ‘Grandma and two of the kids had died in the first strike. By the time I got there, I couldn’t do anything for Dad and the third child…but the shock had caused the mother to go into labour at 7 ½ months.’ She hadn’t been able to move the woman far; between her grief and the contractions, she couldn’t really walk, and she’d been taller and heavier than Beth. The best she’d been able to do at the time was shift them into the sturdiest-looking corner of the room and move what little furniture there was to hopefully (probably overly-optimistically) shield them. ‘…Fifteen minutes later, the second strike hit.’

She raised a hand, touching her forehead, near her hairline, unconsciously. Mac understood the gesture; there was no physical scar, as far as he could tell, but that didn’t mean there were  _no_  scars. She took a deep, shuddering breath, seemingly snapping out of it, and shifted uncomfortably, even a little apologetically and ashamedly.

Mac supposed that shaking off years of training about keeping a professional distance from your patients was very hard, even if all those rules had been thrown out due to the simple fact of the unusual circumstances Beth had basically fallen into.

He broke the silence, voice quiet and a little hesitant.

‘Did…did the mom and baby live?’

Beth nodded, smiling in a way that was soft and sad and wistful.

‘Yes. It was a girl.’

He smiled back up at her.

‘Is there a little girl in Syria named Bethany now?’

She shot him a _look_. Mac’s smile turned sheepish.

_A couple once tried to name their poor son after me. I talked them out of it, thankfully._

‘They’re in Jordan now, as far as I know. And her name is Malaika.’

It took him a minute to translate that, his Arabic being limited to the words that an EOD tech or a secret agent would need to know, but it made him smile when he managed it. _Angels_ was a good name for a little girl born under those circumstances.

‘If it makes you feel any better, I’m acrophobic.’

Beth looked incredulously at him.

‘You, terrified of heights?’ She blinked twice. ‘Last month, you jumped from one building to another in Seattle, nine stories up. The day we, well, met, you climbed into that warehouse by clinging onto the ceiling, and last year, you apparently climbed up a high-voltage electrical transmission tower! And apparently a couple years ago, you hung onto the landing gear of a plane while it was taking off!’

Mac raised one shoulder in a shrug and immediately regretted it.

‘Sometimes, the job needs you to step up.’

He knew Beth understood that very, very well.

She nodded with a little smile, and the two of them shared a glance full of understanding. Her smile widened.

‘Thanks, Mac.’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘Pretty sure I should be thanking you, but…anytime.’

* * *

**CHEESE FACTORY**

**ANOTHER SMALL TOWN**

**WISCONSIN**

* * *

‘…it was my idea!’

‘Yeah, but I got them!’

‘But I came up with it!’

Bozer and Jack bickered as they finished securing the last of the captured arms dealers, and Riley rolled her eyes with very, very exasperated fondness.

‘ _Men._ ’ She pulled out her phone and dialled Matty’s number. ‘Matty, we need a pick-up for six prisoners…’

* * *

**THE WILDERNESS**

**WASHINGTON**

* * *

In the morning, the five Phoenix employees sat inside their cave, trying to decide on their next move.

‘…I can hike out to Freddie’s, it’s not that far…’

Mac sounded very insistent and determined, and to prove his point, tried to stand up. The world swum around him, and he immediately stumbled, but fortunately, Beth had predicted that would happen and caught him around the waist, supporting a good proportion of his weight, since he wasn’t up to the task.

She shot him a _look._

‘You are concussed and have a head wound, what I suspect is three fractured ribs, and countless contusions, Mac. You are _not_ hiking anywhere.’ She made him sit down again. ‘If I must, I will restrain you to your stretcher.’

Mac sighed and stayed where she’d sat him. He had no doubt that Beth would restrain him to the stretcher, and her knot-tying skills had become excellent. It would not be easy to slip out of them, especially since he knew she’d be keeping a watchful eye on him.

Besides, he _really_ did not want to face her terrifying wrath.

Desi crossed her arms and spoke decisively, authoritatively.

‘I’ll hike out to Freddie’s and contact Matty for ex-fil.’ She nodded at Beth. ‘Doc’s in charge.’ Mac smiled at that. James opened his mouth to protest, but Desi silenced him with a _look._ She looked Tim, then James, in the eye in turn. ‘You two, keep them safe.’

She said that very seriously…and like she would hunt them down and kill them if any harm befell anyone because Tim and James were arguing.

That got two sharp nods.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

* * *

A couple of hours after Agent Nguyen had left, James was collecting cattails by the river when he caught sight of a plume of smoke closer to the cave.

That was the emergency flare that Tim had cooked up using that weed MacGyver had shown them that burned really easily.

(He couldn’t remember the name, but he could identify it.)

James dropped his cattails and ran towards the flare, pulling out his weapon as he did, grudgingly admitting that the flares had been a great idea of Tim’s.

* * *

A couple minutes later, listening to Tim tell him that he’d heard a growling noise, James decided that the flares had not been a good idea after all.

‘…I heard a growl! It was a grizzly bear, and it was heading for camp!’

James rolled his eyes at the panicked tech.

‘I see no sign of a grizzly bear-‘

As he said those words, he heard a growl and stopped in his tracks.

Tim looked smug.

‘See? I told you…’ He trailed off as they looked down, having been distracted by their argument, and saw tell-tale tracks. ‘Grizzly bear tracks.’

They were indeed heading in the direction of the camp.

They looked up again and saw a very, very large and very, very irate-looking grizzly bear, looking down the hill at them.

Both men gulped. The bear stared at them, then growled and ran down the hill towards them.

‘Run!’

* * *

James and Tim were sprawled on the ground, having both tripped as they’d run from the grizzly, which was now bearing down on them.

James had his weapon out, aiming for centre mass, but he knew he only had time for one shot unless the bear slowed down, and he didn’t think one shot from his Glock would bother the huge animal enough…

Tim shouted frantically in his ear.

‘Snout! Aim for the snout!’

Instantly, James changed his aim fractionally and fired.

He hit the bear right in the snout, causing it to roar with pain and stop…but not to run away.

It took another two steps towards them, and two more gunshots rang out, hitting the bear in the heart.

It fell to the ground, dead.

James and Tim exchanged a glance, both of them breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through them.

‘Good shot.’

‘Good idea.’

They stared at each other for a moment, then at the bear, and then at each other.

Then, at the same time, each of them held out a hand to the other and spoke simultaneously.

‘I’m sorry.’

They both smiled and shook on it.

* * *

Desi approached the lookout point on her way back to retrieve Mac, Beth, James and Tim for ex-fil, and tilted her head in surprise when she heard laughter.

‘…and it exploded, and we were covered in foam!’

‘Nice, man! Nice!’

Shaking her head, she whistled three ascending notes, the agreed-upon signal, and heard the three ascending notes back, and finally walked into view of the lookout point, where Tim and James were sitting on a large rock, apparently telling one another funny stories.

They were both grinning.

Desi gestured with her head in the direction she’d come from.

‘The chopper’s a mile north.’ She arched an eyebrow at the duo. ‘What did I miss?’

Tim and James exchanged a glance, with grin-smirks on their faces that were eerily identical…and reminiscent of Mac and Jack.

‘How long you got?’

‘It’s a long story.’

* * *

In the chopper, the phone that the chopper pilot had handed Beth when they’d boarded rang, just as she finished Mac’s pre-take-off concussion test.

Brow furrowing in confusion, she pulled it out of her pocket, and answered it. She listened to whoever was on the other side, then smiled wryly and passed it to Mac.

‘It’s for you.’

Matty’s voice came out of the phone as he held it up to his ear.

‘Blondie, why the hell can’t your wilderness survival training sessions go to plan?’

Mac’s expression shifted into something that was halfway between a sheepish grin and a smug smirk.

‘You know I’m not really good at plans.’ He glanced around at Desi, Beth, James and Tim, grin widening. ‘There was a bit of improvising…but everyone passed.’

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

Jack walked into Mac’s place, holding a chiller bag full of cheese, just as Beth finished testing the dilation of his partner’s pupils using a torch while quizzing him about something that Jack didn’t understand but was pretty sure had something to do with physics.

He started unpacking the cheese on the coffee table, then gesticulated at his partner with a hunk of cheddar.

‘Seriously, brother, I let you out of my sight for three days once a year, and last year you got yourself kidnapped, this year you got yourself shoved off a cliff, what’s gonna happen next time? You gonna get yourself taken by aliens?’

The front door opened in the middle of his speech, and Bozer and Riley entered, holding an assortment of grapes, wine and crackers.

‘Nah, he’ll wind up travelling back in time by accident! _Back to the Future_ , bro!’

‘Or have a run-in with a grizzly bear.’

The door from the deck opened between Bozer and Riley’s interjections, and Desi, sharp as ever, just waved a hand dismissively in response to Riley’s suggestion.

‘Been there, done that.’

Bozer, Riley and Jack exchanged a glance, then all looked at Mac, Desi and Beth. Jack flopped onto the couch and cut into the camembert, then pointed at Mac with the cheese knife.

‘Okay, we’re doing your story first, brother.’

* * *

_I can’t believe they disassembled a cheese-culture bioreactor without me!_

_I’ve been wanting to get my hands on one of those for_ ages.

_Still, Jack did bring back some really nice brie, so I can’t complain._

_Well, maybe I will a little bit._

_I’m not going to miss a chance to give Jack a little taste of his own medicine, am I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New running gag – Mac’s wilderness survival training sessions always go wrong! Hope you guys enjoyed this absurd ep! (It’s _MacGyver_ after all!)
> 
> There’s no episode tag for this one, but here’s the press release for the next ep:
> 
> 4.14, Desi/Dez. When a wanted Iraqi terrorist that Desi has a personal vendetta against lands himself on the Phoenix’s radar, the team finally learns why Desi owed Jack, and a bit more as to what shaped her into the woman they know.
> 
> See you in two weeks, I hope!


	14. Desi/Dez

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a wanted Iraqi terrorist that Desi has a personal vendetta against lands himself on the Phoenix’s radar, the team finally learns why Desi owed Jack, and a bit more as to what shaped her into the woman they know.

**CANCUN**

**MEXICO**

* * *

Desi, wearing a pair of very short boardshorts and a long-sleeved wetshirt, rode the waves expertly, grinning, occasionally smirking at a fellow surfer.

(She was really good and she knew it.)

Eventually, she caught a wave to shore, hopped off her board and tucked it under her arm, smirking at a man a few years younger than her who’d caught the next wave in. The tanned, blonde, blue-eyed man smirked back at her and wolf-whistled as she stuck her board in the sand and stretched. Desi smirked a little wider and winked at him, before turning around, feeling his eyes on her, striding off with her board under her arm.

Once she was out of his earshot, she raised her right arm and pressed a button on what appeared to be a FitBit on her wrist, speaking quietly into it.

‘Bozer, Riley, you’re up.’

* * *

Riley, wearing a floral maxi-dress, and Bozer, in a crisp linen shirt, a sharp Panama hat and chino shorts, strolled down the beachside street, following the handsome blonde man who still had his surfboard under his arm. They were hand-in-hand, looking every bit honeymooners lost in their own world.

Bozer grinned at his supposed wife.

‘We finally got to come to Cancun!’

Riley shook her head in a way that was clearly exasperated, but also clearly fond.

It certainly suited the part she was playing, even if it was real.

They were only in Cancun because that was where a renowned money launderer had ‘retired’ at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.

As they strolled past a jetty, having followed the man for ten minutes, Riley pointed slyly at a buzzing brunch place.

‘Horchata French toast, honey?’

Bozer grinned.

‘Anything for you, babe.’

Riley reached up and touched the necklace around her neck, tapping a pattern with her finger, as she and Bozer strode off towards the restaurant.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the jetty, Jack’s watch vibrated on his wrist, as he packed up his and Mac’s fishing gear.

(Mac was occupied doing something to his fishing rod.)

The older man grinned.

‘Let’s call it a morning, son. I wanna get some of those tacos…’ He gestured with his head towards the money launderer, who’d stopped to chat with a couple of college-aged girls in bikinis. ‘…after we catch something, of course.’

He held up their empty bucket. He and Mac hadn’t gotten any bites that morning, unfortunately. Jack was really hoping for fish tacos, but no dice.

Mac just grinned and raised his fishing rod.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…just saying, brother, why haven’t you pulled that trick before?’

‘It was awesome, bro!’

Bozer and Jack, flanking Mac as they strode into the war room, talked enthusiastically at each other about Mac’s latest little trick, which Bozer had taken to calling ‘MacGyverisms’ in tribute to Mac and his dad.

Mac rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin-smirk on his face.

‘I, uh, didn’t come up with it until we were on that jetty…’

Meanwhile, Riley and Desi exchanged a glance as they walked through the war room door, with raised eyebrows and knowing looks, that said, quite clearly, _men._

Matty was standing at the front of the room, looking very serious, even for her.

Immediately, the five of them sobered, exchanging glances.

For some reason, Matty’s eyes lingered on Desi for a beat, before tapping the screen of her tablet.

A map of Afghanistan appeared, a small, isolated region highlighted in red.

‘The Phoenix has intel that a highly-wanted Iraqi terrorist has been spotted in this region of Afghanistan, for the first time in ten years.’ Matty paused. ‘We thought that we’d taken him out ten years ago, but we thought wrong, unfortunately. Kasim al-Shammari remains at large.’

She tapped her tablet again, and a picture of an Iraqi man, bearded, in his thirties, appeared. He was also holding an AK-47.

Desi, Riley noted, had paled, dug her fingernails into her palms and muttered something very quietly that’d sounded like _no,_ as soon as Matty had said that name.

Jack had glanced over at the Vietnamese-American woman, but said nothing, being subtle in a way that Jack rarely was.

‘…We’re sending you five to Afghanistan to capture him.’ Matty paused again, looked gravely at them all. ‘He’s evasive, deadly and nearly impossible to capture.’

Bozer grinned, rubbing his hands together.

‘Well, that’s right up our alley, and it’s Tuesday, so of course we gotta-‘

Riley cut him off by elbowing him in the stomach none-too-gently, gesturing with her head towards Jack and Desi who were looking extremely, extremely serious. Desi even looked _shaken_ , and the shock of that was enough to make Bozer blink and clamp his mouth shut.

Instead, he looked at Riley, a clear question on his face. The hacker, in turn, just glanced at Desi, whom Mac, Jack and Matty were already looking at.

(Mac looked very, very curious, like he really, really wanted to ask a question – _the_ question – but had restrained the impulse because he knew it wasn’t appropriate, wasn’t the right thing to do. He seemed to be trying really hard to hide that curiosity, but was failing.)

Desi crossed her arms, looked all of them in the eye, then let them drop to her sides, took a deep breath and opened her mouth…

* * *

**10 YEARS AGO**

**US ARMY BARRACKS**

**IRAQ**

* * *

‘..uncle, uncle!’

Desi smirked as her opponent tapped the ground of her unit’s barracks repeatedly, since she’d pinned him. Again.

She hopped off his chest, still smirking, and held out a hand to help him up. Barnes grinned back up at her, running a hand through his crew-cut brown hair, blue eyes with a rather roguish spark in them.

(She liked that spark, always had, ever since she’d been tapped to join this unit – elite, with a rep – nine months ago, at the tender age of twenty-three.)

(Elliot Barnes, twenty-six, was the next-youngest member of the unit, and the two of them had quickly become fast friends, sparring for fun and playing pranks on the others and doing the occasional stupid dare.)

(Possibly more than friends, actually…or, more accurately, Desi thought, _could be_ more than friends. The feelings were there, certainly, and mutual, but they were members of a small unit in the middle of a war zone.)

(It wasn’t the right time. It would be, one day, but not now.)

‘Two out of three, Barnes.’ She held out a hand. ‘Pay up.’

He shook his head at her, but was still grinning as he pulled out a Hershey bar from under his bunk and tossed it at her.

She caught it deftly and immediately unwrapped it, as one of their teammates, a huge African-American man they all called ‘Sarge’ (despite the fact that he hadn’t been a Sergeant in years) shook his head, looking up from the latest photos of his four little girls his wife had sent through.

(Sarge would show you his photos of his five girls all day, happily, if you let him.)

‘When are you gonna learn, Barnes? Nguyen can kick your butt any day of the week.’

The petite blonde woman whose bunk was over Desi’s and was reading a fashion magazine called down to Sarge. Chekova was tiny, and terrifying, and the only member of the team who routinely beat Desi in hand-to-hand sparring.

‘Come on, Sarge…’ She smirked in that very knowing way of hers. ‘…it’s cute when he thinks he can beat her.’

Desi grinned around her chocolate.

She might not really talk to her biological family anymore, because they absolutely didn’t get it and she was sick of them trying to help her ‘get her life back on track’, but she’d realized in the last couple of months, that didn’t mean she didn’t have a family.

Not at all.

The tent flap opened, and in strode a well-built man, his hair greying at the temples. Cap, serious as ever, gestured with his head outside.

‘We got a new target, team.’

* * *

Six days later, Desi lay behind a ridge halfway up a large hill, looking through the scope of a sniper rifle and with a split second to make a terrible, terrible choice.

On one hand, their plan had worked.

Their trap had been baited and sprung. Al-Shammari was out of hiding and in the open, and Desi had a shot.

On the other hand, their plan had failed.

Their intel was shoddy. Al-Shammari had far more men than they’d known, and those men had Sarge, Cap, Chekova and Barnes surrounded, pinned.

(They’d been the bait, Desi the trap. She hadn’t argued with the plan. Now, she thought, she should have.)

They were holding their own for now, but she knew they’d be overrun soon.

(And they all knew what al-Shammari did with his prisoners. Especially Americans.)

She had two options.

Take the shot at al-Shammari, take him out.

Or lay cover fire for her team, give them a fighting chance

Desi knew she only had one option. She didn’t have a choice, not really.

She took the shot.

Al-Shammari fell, blood blooming on his chest, and she paid him no more attention, switching her aim, and getting two shots off, taking out two of al-Shammari’s men, before she was spotted. She saw the man pointing up at her location and cursed, grabbing her rifle to move.

Just in time, too, as a grenade was launched up at her. She jumped, ducked and rolled to avoid it, feeling the heat of the explosion on her back.

A second grenade forced her to keep running, prevented her from setting up another nest, and as she ran for her life, she got one last glance of her team (her family).

Cap, bleeding, possibly dead, face down in the dirt.

Chekova, out of bullets but not giving up, being overcome by four men.

Sarge, a wicked-looking machete at his neck.

Barnes ( _Elliot_ ), unconscious (she wouldn’t let herself think otherwise), being kicked and spat on by al-Shammari’s men.

And she could do nothing but run.

Another grenade exploded behind her, too close, and Desi half-jumped, half-was-pushed forward by the explosion.

Her head struck rock as she fell, and everything went dark.

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Only minutes after telling her tale, Desi stared at the map in front of them, showing the terrain around the small village in Afghanistan where al-Shammari had been spotted. Her chin was slightly up-tilted, her arms crossed, and she looked incredibly focused, cool, calm and professional. There was no sign of how shaken she’d been (at least to their eyes) earlier.

_We’re all good at compartmentalizing. We have to be, in this line of work._

_But this is seriously impressive._

_Still, we know that even if she’s prickly, cool, calm and collected, Desi’s not cold. Not at all._

_Besides, she’s always going to be a mystery, but I’m about 90% sure I can tell the difference between Desi’s actually-calm and compartmentalized-calm expressions now._

Behind her back, Mac, Bozer and Riley exchanged a concerned glance.

Jack stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder, steadying and comforting.

Matty gave a little nod, and gestured at the door.

‘Wheels up in forty.’

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**ON-ROUTE TO AFGHANISTAN**

* * *

Desi, her hands braced on the sink, stared at her reflection in the mirror, lost in a memory on loop.

That split second she’d had to choose.

A voice in the back of her head, loud and persistent despite her attempts to shut it up, kept repeating, _you chose wrong._

The door, despite the fact that she’d locked it, opened after some jiggling around and metallic clanking.

Desi crossed her arms and shot Jack a _look_ as he entered.

‘Just me, Dez.’

She arched an eyebrow.

‘The door was locked.’

Jack shrugged.

‘You think I haven’t picked up a few tricks from our boy? After all this time I’ve spent with him? I been taking Mr MacGyver’s science class for years!’ That, at least, got Desi to give a snort. Jack took that as a win, reached out in the small space and put a hand on her shoulder, locking eyes with the younger agent. ‘It ain’t your fault, Dez.’ He said that with utter, absolute certainty, and gave it a moment to sink in. ‘That shot was good.’

‘You weren’t there.’

The moment she spoke, Desi regretted snapping at Jack.

He might not have been there during that fateful moment, but he’d been there alright.

But Jack, because he was Jack, understood, just squeezed her shoulder and jerked his thumb at the door.

‘Come on, Dez, we got plenty of chocolate and a couple bags of those spicy ranch chips you like, Lil’ Doc worked some more of her magic…’

* * *

Out in the main cabin of the jet, Riley, Bozer and Mac were all gathered around the duffle bag containing the medical kit, the young woman sitting in a seat, while Mac and Bozer knelt on either side of the bag.

Riley had a brow arched and was examining a couple of chocolate bars from the frankly-impressive pile on the seat next to her. Mac was holding two family-sized bags of spicy ranch chips, his thinking-face firmly on and alternately staring at the bags of chips and the duffle bag, like he was doing calculations. His expression shifted, looking confused, like he absolutely couldn’t work out how those chocolate bars and chip packets could fit into the space left after the medical kit had been packed. Bozer, meanwhile, gesticulated wildly and dramatically.

‘…see, bro? Your math ain’t wrong, it’s never wrong, hasn’t been wrong since that time that Darlene Martin…’ Bozer cut himself off. ‘Sorry, pinkie-promise, I didn’t forget! Anyway, bro, your math’s never wrong and if you can’t do it…’ Bozer spread his arms wide dramatically. ‘If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable’s gotta be the truth!’ He continued, completely seriously. ‘Beth’s totally Mary Poppins in disguise!’

That made Desi give a very small smile, and she plopped herself down in the nearest seat, as, rather amusingly, Mac and Bozer realized that she’d left the bathroom.

She expertly caught the chocolate bar that Riley tossed her, and in her typical blunt manner, spoke as she tore the wrapping.

‘You wanted the story of why I owe Jack. Wish granted.’

* * *

**10 YEARS AGO**

**US ARMY BARRACKS**

**IRAQ**

* * *

After a meeting with the higher-ups, Desi, with an impressive bruise and a few butterfly bandages on her forehead, stalked towards the base’s semi-makeshift gym, intent on going a few rounds with a punching bag or anyone she could get to spar with her.

(She preferred sparring over the bag, but then again, maybe not right now. She didn’t think she could handle the sympathy of everyone on base who’d heard all about how she was the ‘miraculous survivor’, the only one of her team left.)

Desi finally realized that her fists were still clenched, that her nails were digging painfully into her palms.

That ball of fury she’d been trying to suppress, trying to control and utilize (not let control her) like she’d been taught as a little girl in martial arts classes, bubbled up again.

She couldn’t believe that they wouldn’t…

She thought that the US Army left no man behind.

It was like having no choice but to run, no choice but to not help, all over again.

Her fury kept boiling.

And then, in a moment that was incredibly, infuriatingly surreal, she heard out-of-tune singing, a male voice with a Texan twang butchering a Willie Nelson song.

* * *

Jack Dalton, CIA agent, was minding his own business, taking a walk around base and singing one of his go-to karaoke favourites, when he came across a furious-looking young female soldier.

With a jolt, he recognized her.

(Base scuttlebutt was buzzing about Desiree Nguyen, unfortunately. Sole survivor of an elite squad and all.)

(Jack had told off more than a few young soldiers who’d gotten a little too gossipy, forgotten how it all boiled down to her losing her team, her brothers and sisters. Forgotten the lives lost, the sacrifices made.)

Jack had never actually met the woman who was cursing under her breath and looked like she wasn’t far off punching a wall and committing several acts of insubordination.

(He sighed and shook his head inwardly at that. They’d obviously decided on not approving a retrieval mission, which in his eyes, went against every value they were supposed to uphold, they’d been trained to uphold. Leave no man behind was something that he was very much behind, and it seemed that some of the powers-that-be had forgotten that.)

But he’d heard a little bit about her.

(She had a rep. She was gonna go quick up the ranks, even with a few reprimands for insubordination due to, scuttlebutt said, stupid dares.)

He remembered being young and green, too, remembered the pain of every loss he’d experienced too.

So he nodded towards the young soldier, gestured with his head towards the gym, where he guessed she’d been heading.

‘Jack Dalton, CIA.’ From her answering nod, the look in her eyes, he gathered she recognized him and had heard of him. ’Want a sparring partner, Nguyen?’

He kept his voice very deliberately casual. She searched his eyes like she was looking for sympathy and pity (and Jack felt sympathy and even a little pity, even as he knew how annoyed she’d be at it, how he’d feel in her position to see pity, but he wasn’t CIA for nothing and kept it hidden), but he seemed to pass her test, because she smiled in a way that didn’t reach her eyes in the slightest and gave a sharp nod.

‘Always.’

* * *

After many, many rounds of sparring, once their muscles ached and sweat covered their bodies, Jack finally spoke as he tossed Nguyen a bottle of water, grabbed one for himself and sat down next to her.

‘You know they’re probably gone.’

He kept his voice gentle, kind, but spoke bluntly. For some reason, instinct told him that she liked blunt.

Nguyen swallowed, even though she hadn’t opened her water bottle. Anger, guilt and sadness, all mixed together, flashed across her face. She opened her water with too much force, but still didn’t spill any as she took a drink, before turning to him with a look of extreme stubbornness on her face.

‘That doesn’t invalidate a rescue…or a retrieval.’

Her words were just as stubborn, anger, guilt and sadness clear, even though Jack suspected she was trying to control it.

There was an edge to her voice, too, something determined. Very, very determined. Resolute.

He nodded easily, having to put some effort into keeping his voice and expression and stance casual.

‘You ‘bout to do one of those brave and stupid things you like to do? ‘Cause I’m warning you, it’s a terrible idea, you’re gonna get yourself killed.’

The young soldier shot him a very sharp look, eyes even more resolute.

‘This time, it’s for a good reason.’

She said it like she was daring him to stop her. Jack just nodded, the young woman rising even more in his esteem.

He sculled some of his water before speaking again.

‘Alright, when are we leaving?’ That got him another _look_ , and he shrugged, which was at odds with his very serious tone, the grave look on his face. ‘You need someone to watch your six, Nguyen.’

She stared at him for a very long time, and Jack had the wild thought that she was probably damn good at poker, because her expression was hard to read, even as emotionally turbulent as he knew she was right now.

Then, she gave a single nod and crossed her arms.

‘Fine, if you insist.’

She jumped up gracefully, chugging her water, and Jack shook his head.

Well, warm and fuzzy she was not, obviously.

* * *

Very, very early the next morning, Jack drove a somewhat-improperly-requisitioned armoured vehicle out of the base, with Nguyen in the passenger seat and a good selection from the armoury with them.

The young woman was staring out the window, a look on her face that was almost-painfully reminiscent of Riley, finally emerging from her bedroom after storming home from school and going straight to her room, eyes suspiciously damp and red.

(Not long after, the girls at school who’d been bullying her had found their credit cards maxed out and their parents had received copies of all their texts with their secret college boyfriends.)

She also was giving off serious I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it vibes, which also reminded him painfully of one of his favourite girls.

(They still were his favourite girls, might always be, he knew, deep down, even if things hadn’t ended well between him and Diane at all.)

Still, they were about to walk into the lions’ den, and it was just the two of them, and this was risky and crazy and stupid.

They both needed to be at the top of their games.

So, he broke the silence, doing his best to channel Diane talking to her daughter, his sister to her boys, his first CO to him, when they wanted to impart a lesson, impart some wisdom.

Matter-of-fact, not making a big deal of it, not condescending, but kind, underscored with some sort of care.

‘All those thoughts and feelings running wild in your head, Nguyen?’ She glanced at him, looking startlingly young for a moment. ‘You gotta lock ‘em up tight in a box, and don’t open it back up ‘till you get your team back to base. Then do what you gotta do, throw stuff, cry, yell at the higher-ups, go a dozen rounds with a bag, whatever. But now? You gotta focus, gotta lock it all away.’ He paused. ‘For them.’ He paused again. ‘It ain’t easy, but I know you can do it, Dez.’

She was silent, staring at him, for a beat, before taking several deep breaths, that tumultuous mixture of anger, guilt and sadness fading from her eyes, her expression, her posture. Then, she crossed her arms stubbornly.

‘No one calls me Dez.’

Jack smiled.

‘Well, I do now, Dez.’

* * *

‘Nguyen!’

Hearing the warning in Dalton’s voice, Desi whirled around, firing off a shot before she fully registered the man who was about to shoot her in the back, then, acting on some kind of instinct, spun around again, and shot one of the three men threatening to overwhelm the CIA agent.

* * *

Desi stood in a hallway in the middle of al-Shammari’s compound, unconscious or dead terrorists behind her, her gun trained on al-Shammari’s lieutenant and her hands steady, Dalton watching her back.

She noted that he also seemed to be deliberately not looking at the lieutenant, deliberately silent on the matter of what to do with him.

(That, she had realized, must mean something, since Dalton never seemed to shut up and had opinions on everything.)

The man was only a few feet away from her, unarmed ever since she’d shot him in the shoulder, forcing him to drop his own weapon.

That rage bubbled up in her again, but Desi took a deep breath, controlled it and used it like she’d been taught to, and took a step forward and kicked the man hard in the chin, before striking him hard on the head on the way down. He crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and she stepped past him into the room that he’d been guarding.

The room whose contents he’d taunted her with, leading to her shooting him in the first place.

And then, her control broke.

Desi dropped to her knees and heard a sob before she realized it was coming out of her own mouth.

* * *

A glance into the room told Jack that unfortunately, he’d been right.

He turned, to keep watch and to give Nguyen some privacy as she grieved, as she said her goodbyes (which he pretended not to hear), and as she gave her team whatever dignity in death that she could.

Then, when they’d lingered for as long as Jack dared, when the young woman’s sobs had stopped and she looked so-very-controlled once more, Jack reached out and put a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

‘Come on, let’s take ‘em home, Dez.’

* * *

When they arrived back at base, to be greeted by a _very_ irate base commander, Jack stepped forward and spoke up just as the man was about to formally reprimand the young soldier.

‘Actually, sir, she wasn’t AWOL. I authorized the retrieval. CIA business. Classified, need-to-know and above your security clearance.’

The base commander glared at Jack, apparently sensing a lie, but Jack just stood his ground, arching a brow at the man as if daring him to call his boss.

(He probably would, and Jack knew Matty would get it. He’d owe her one, a big one, but he’d wear it for Dez.)

(She was a good egg. Prickly, but tough and real badass and worthy of respect.)

* * *

The next day, after they’d both been chewed out by their bosses and thoroughly debriefed, she cornered Jack on his way to the mess.

He could still see that anger and guilt and sadness there, and knew she’d carry it for the rest of her life. It was still raw, too, but something had changed a little, even if he couldn’t pin it down.

Jack was sure, now, that Desiree Nguyen would be okay.

She fidgeted a little, crossing her arms and looking a little bit uncomfortable, awkward, before speaking.

‘Thanks, Dalton.’ She locked eyes with him. ‘I owe you one.’

She said that very seriously, as resolute as she’d been when she’d insisted she was going on a one-woman retrieval mission into enemy territory.

Jack just smiled.

‘Friends call me Jack.’

He got a little bit of a smile in return.

‘Maybe friends call me Dez.’

* * *

After that, they’d worked together for a while, then kept in touch, and Jack had followed her career, through finishing college between deployments, going to Ranger school, her insubordination in Afghanistan (again for a good cause), joining a Spec Ops team…and then, one day, he’d called in that favour.

Desi owed him. Big time, for so many things, more than she could really describe.

So she’d dropped everything to protect the people that Jack considered family.

For him, it was the least she could do.

* * *

**PHOENIX JET**

**ON-ROUTE TO AFGHANISTAN**

* * *

As Desi finished her story, letting out a very big breath (oddly, she felt a little lighter…), Mac, Bozer and Riley exchanged glances, an entire conversation passing between them in seconds.

Then, Mac spoke for the three of them, resolute and serious.

‘We’re family, Desi. Any problem of yours is a problem of ours.’ He paused. ‘We’re going to get al-Shammari, whatever it takes.’

That, Desi thought, was cheesy and corny and terrible, but because he was _Mac_ , he could get away with saying those things, because he meant them, completely, utterly, genuinely. And because he was Mac, she believed it completely, too.

She smiled.

‘Thanks.’ She glanced around the cabin, at all four members of her new team. (Her new family.) ‘All of you. I appreciate it.’ Then, her smile widened, crooked a little with mischief. ‘Now, toss me those chips, will you?’

Mac obliged, and Riley sifted through the mound of chocolate bars, pulling out Desi’s favourite and tossing it over to her too.

* * *

**US ARMY BASE**

**AFGHANISTAN**

* * *

Bozer and Riley sat in a shipping container in the US garrison, poring over satellite intel and what financials and such that Phoenix techs had managed to dig out on their flight over.

‘…I think we might have something…’

‘…got some suspicious transactions here…’

* * *

Meanwhile, Mac, Jack and Desi, wearing borrowed US Army uniforms, had joined a routine patrol through the small village where al-Shammari had been spotted.

‘…we got nothing here so far, but I gotta say, this is bringing back some memories, don’t ya think, brother, Dez? Just like the good ol’ days…’

Jack’s incessant prattling continued, punctuated with the occasional snappy retort from Mac, but Desi tuned them out like white noise, focusing on her surroundings, keeping her eyes sharp and her instincts sharper.

* * *

Mac and Jack had covered at least a half-dozen different topics when it happened.

Something, she wasn’t sure what, had caught Desi’s eye, and she zeroed in on an alleyway, where a man was standing.

She _recognized_ that man.

Al-Shammari’s lieutenant. The one that she and Jack had captured.

He was _here_.

He was _free._

In the same village where his boss had been once again sighted.

Not a coincidence.

Desi almost took a few steps forward to pursue him as he ducked away from the US Army patrol, but restrained the impulse, falling into step with the rest of the patrol and muttering into her comms, voice tight with restrained anger.

‘Al-Shammari’s lieutenant, he’s here. I just saw him. We’re in the right place.’

She signalled discreetly towards the alleyway the man had just ducked down, and the leader of the patrol signalled to Mac and Jack far more overtly, and the duo headed down the alleyway.

Desi, meanwhile, stayed with the rest of the patrol, knowing that she was far too recognizable, `knowing she had to stay put and trust in Mac and Jack, for now, so she could get another shot at al-Shammari.

Desi took a deep breath.

She’d rather be doing it herself.

But it was Mac and Jack. She still seriously doubted, sometimes, how they got anything done, given how much time and brainpower they seemed to devote to their banter, but they were the best in the business.

Her faith was validated moments later.

‘…Ri, we got an ’03 Jeep, tan, heading north, keep an eye on it…’

* * *

Desi burst into the shipping container, with Mac and Jack on her heels.

‘…Riley, tell me you’ve still got him.’ On the big screen in the middle of the shipping container, the Jeep appeared to be entering some sort of cave system, causing it to disappear off the screen. Desi swallowed, a very, very determined expression on her face. ‘So that’s where he’s hiding.’

Jack shook his head.

‘It’s gonna be real hard to plan a strike; we got no idea what we’re walking into.’

A little smirk appeared on Mac’s face.

‘I’ve got a solution for that.’

* * *

A couple of hours later, the five Phoenix agents and a US Army Spec Ops team commander stood around the big screen, which now showed a frankly impressive map of the cave system.

(It was rough, but it was a heck of a lot better than what they’d been expecting, and many, many, many magnitudes better than what they’d had.)

(It’d been mapped using improved LIDAR technology developed by the MacGyvers and Robert Reese to determine the slope and type of the rock in the region, followed by algorithms developed by the former to infer a map.)

‘…this is probably our best point of entry, once we’re in, we split into two teams…’

* * *

‘…you sure you don’t wanna borrow something?’

The army commander quirked an eyebrow at Mac as their chopper flew towards the caves. The blonde had ‘borrowed’ a few odds and ends and what looked suspiciously like Bozer’s phone from the shipping container on base, and was building…something. Or rather, a series of somethings. (Jack wasn’t quite sure what it was, yet, but he was pretty sure it complimented those knockout grenades his partner had assembled while they’d nailed down the specifics of the plan back on base.)

‘No, thanks.’ The army commander glanced at Jack and Desi – who were both armed with large guns and a couple of back-ups, plus their usual boot knives – a look on his face that very clearly asked, _is he crazy?_ Jack just nodded in response. Mac shook his head, and gestured with his Swiss Army knife, before pointing to his head. ‘Trust me, I’ve gotten through a lot with just that.’

Jack nodded, jerking a thumb at his partner.

‘Our boy’s nuts, but he’s got the goods, don’t worry, man.’ Jack jogged Desi lightly with his elbow. ‘Come on, Dez, tell ‘em what he did last time we were in Paris, since you’re always complaining I can’t tell it right-‘

‘When you tell it, Jack, there are always at least three factual errors!’

Desi snorted and shook her head as Mac and Jack got going.

She knew what they were doing. She knew that Jack had noticed she was getting a little lost in her own head, and that the banter starting up between Mac and Jack (to the bemusement of the poor commander) was mostly for her benefit.

She appreciated it.

* * *

From the chopper, Mac lobbed a couple of his knockout grenades at the mouth of the cave they were using as an entry point, where they joined smoke grenades from the Spec Ops team in confusing and taking out the guards.

Quickly, the assault teams were set down, more grenades being thrown all the while, and then, they ran into what they anticipated would be a fight.

Instead, as the smoke cleared, they found a large number of unconscious guards. One was even snoring.

The commander glanced at Mac, looking rather impressed. Baffled, but impressed.

Mac just grinned sheepishly, as one of the guards let out a very loud snore.

‘I might have overdone it a little…’

* * *

Jack ducked out behind cover and shot a terrorist clean between the eyes, while Mac tossed something that looked a bit like a spider at a second. A moment later, the man dropped to the ground, convulsing.

‘Wait, brother, you made a Taser-spider?’ Jack shot another terrorist without pausing the conversation. ‘Come on, why can’t all of your gizmos be this cool?’

Mac rolled his eyes and tossed a knockout grenade down a tunnel to their left, having caught sight of some of al-Shammari’s men heading down it, then spoke through the comms.

‘Desi, you guys alright?’

There were several loud thuds and a couple of gunshots through his earpiece, then Desi’s voice replied, deadpan.

‘Just peachy.’

* * *

Desi caught movement in a small tunnel to her right as she and half of the Army team moved down a main tunnel, further into al-Shammari’s base, and signalled to the nearest soldier, who passed the signal onto the team.

Silently, the team, Desi at point, ducked into the smaller tunnel, weapons at the ready.

Al-Shammari was standing there, and he looked straight at Desi and smirked cruelly.

He _knew._

Rage, a thirst for vengeance and that anger and guilt she’d carried for a decade bubbled through her, but her grip on her weapon remained steady.

And then, after a split second of eye contact, al-Shammari ran.

Without even thinking about it, Desi ran after him, barely aware of the pounding of boots on dirt which signalled that the rest of the assault team was also in pursuit.

She pushed herself just that little bit harder.

He was not getting away this time.

He _couldn’t._

* * *

Desi cursed as her shot missed, hitting al-Shammari’s weapon instead of his shoulder. Still, it was something; as far as she could tell, he’d only had the one gun.

She rounded a corner, only to see that he’d hit a dead end. There was a moment in which she’d felt like she’d finally won, like he was finally going to go down, get what he deserved…

Then, she got a very, very bad feeling as he turned and smirked at her.

Desi whirled around quickly, caught sight of an LED, flashing in the ceiling, seemingly covered by mud and yelled at the tac team behind her, gesturing at the ceiling.

‘Run, it’s a trap!’

That was all she got out before the ceiling exploded.

* * *

As the rock fall stopped, Desi pushed herself up off the ground, blood trickling down her face from a cut on her forehead. She noted that the tunnel behind her was closed off, trapping her in a small space…along with al-Shammari.

Walling off the concern she felt for the assault team who’d been right behind her, Desi got up off the ground, pulled out the small sidearm she’d had strapped to her ankle and aimed it at the terrorist.

(She’d had two other weapons, a large gun that she’d ditched during the chase when the tunnel had gotten too narrow, and another sidearm that was presumably now buried in the rubble, but this was all she had now, and thankfully, it was one better than al-Shammari…and she could definitely go a few rounds with just her fists and the knife in her boot.)

‘Looks like it’s just you and me.’

The man smirked darkly.

‘I’ve always wanted to collect the full set.’

They stared at each other for a moment, before Desi fired off a shot and al-Shammari ducked and lunged at her legs, trying to knock her off balance.

* * *

With great effort, Desi managed to roll herself and al-Shammari, who had her pinned on the ground, and punched him hard in the face.

(Her gun had long been kicked away, lost somewhere in the fallen rocks and debris.)

He spat in her face in response, and kneed her hard in the stomach, making her grunt in pain, then flung her off.

Desi retaliated by catching his legs in hers, tripping him when he tried to stand.

* * *

Desi slashed al-Shammari across the arm with her knife, then spun him around, using his own momentum against him, and positioned herself so that she had him slightly bent over and off-balance, her knife at his throat, the sharp edge resting against his skin, arm wrapped around his neck.

He struggled, but the movements were weak. He was exhausted. She’d caught a glimpse of his chest, too, when an attempt to stab him had just missed, and she knew now that she must have almost killed him ten years ago, only for him to miraculously survive. The wound had clearly been very serious, and from the scarring, probably hadn’t been treated well. It was no wonder he didn’t move that well, and had tired faster than she’d expected.

Desi tightened her arm ever-so-slightly, pressed the knife down in a warning.

She could kill him.

Slit his throat, or break his neck.

It wouldn’t be hard. It wouldn’t be anything that she hadn’t done before.

And it would be so, so satisfying.

(Revenge was sweet, and it was best served cold.)

For Sarge. For Cap. For Chekova. For Barnes ( _Elliot_ ).

For her family.

For the pain and the guilt and the anger she’d carried around for ten years.

For that tragedy that’d stopped her from making friends with every team she’d worked with for ten years, until this lot who wouldn’t take no for an answer and had somehow gotten through her defences.

Desi didn’t kill if she could avoid it. She preferred to take a few hits and bruises and put a bad guy in interrogation, rather than stick them in the morgue.

She had _rules._

And now, she wanted nothing more than to break them.

_It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it._

A voice echoed in her head, somehow sounding like half a dozen people all at once. Cap, grave and fatherly. Sarge, speaking with experience. Chekova, flipping her hair and spinning around to roundhouse kick their target into unconsciousness. Elliot, reaching out to take her hand. Jack, watching her back. Her first karate teacher, when he’d found her beating up a bully behind her school.

Desi took a deep breath, and tightened her arm around al-Shammari’s neck, until he grew slack with unconsciousness.

* * *

Later, after they’d brought al-Shammari and the rest of the prisoners back to base, the commander of the Spec Ops team strode over to Desi. He had some cuts and bruises and scrapes, but was otherwise fine.

‘If you hadn’t noticed…me and my men would’ve been buried under those rocks.’ He paused. ‘Just wanted to say thanks.’

It wasn’t her team, her family, but it was still something. Far more than something.

Desi smiled.

‘I appreciate that.’

* * *

**LA NATIONAL CEMETERY**

**LA**

* * *

Desi strolled along the rows of gravestones, until she found the one she was looking for.

She crouched down and smiled, tinged with sadness and sweet in a way that very few ever got to see, setting the bunch of flowers she was holding down.

‘Hey, Barnes. Long time, no see…’ She tided and rearranged the flowers she’d brought, partly just to keep her hands busy. Mac might have a point with the paperclips; it did seem to help. ‘I’m sorry about that.’ She paused, fingers running over the inscription on the stone for a moment. ‘I…I just wanted you to know, we got him. And he is never, ever getting out of that concrete box, and we are going to get every last drop of intel out of his head, and…’ Desi wiped her eyes, which were suddenly wet. ‘It’s not going to bring you back. It’s not going to bring any of you back, but…it’s something.’ She fell silent for a long moment, wiping her eyes again, before she smiled and plopped herself down on the ground. ‘As I said, it’s been a while, so I’ve got some new stories for you. Wanna hear about the time I threw exploding stuffed animals at bad guys?’

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

Bozer carefully piped chocolate buttercream onto the chocolate cupcakes he’d made, which would go with the chocolate volcano cakes, chocolate mousse and home-made chocolate ice cream he’d prepared earlier. As he sprinkled on shavings of ground dark chocolate, Mac fed the second batch of washed potatoes into a device that looked like a steampunk meat grinder crossed with a mandolin, producing a large pile of neatly-cut French fries. They’d become spicy ranch fries once fried and coated with the spicy ranch flavouring Mac had made for Desi when she’d been in Vietnam. Meanwhile, Riley shaped Bozer’s special mince blend into patties at the counter, ready to go on the grill that Jack and Matty were heating up.

The three of them exchanged a glance as all three of their phones chimed at the same time.

Desi had slipped away after debrief, but not before promising that she’d be at Mac’s for dinner.

As he fed in the last potato, Mac took out his phone and read the text.

**Want me to pick up the beer on my way over?**

He smiled, sent back a reply in the affirmative, and then cursed when he realized that the last potato had gotten jammed in the machine.

_There is a 4% chance of any one potato blocking my fry cutter._

_Now, that’s pretty low for one of my kitchen gadgets, as Boze will attest._

_And I know that each potato is an independent event, but really? The last potato out of seventeen getting jammed?_

_There’s always something a little more frustrating about that._

* * *

Later, Mac, Bozer, Riley, Matty, Jack and Desi sat around the fire-pit, chowing down on spicy ranch fries and burgers cooked to perfection.

‘…just saying, Boze. Add a little bacon, and then it’d be just perfect!’

Bozer arched an eyebrow at Jack.

‘You’re not supposed to be eating so much bacon, and I know for a fact that you had bacon for breakfast just a couple days ago!’

‘And face it, Jack, you don’t do bacon in moderation.’

Riley punctuated that by leaning over and stealing a couple of Jack’s fries. He made an indignant face.

‘Hey, I resemble that remark!’ Mac arched an eyebrow at him, pointing out that that was exactly why Riley had said it, and his partner waved a hand dismissively. ‘Besides, what Lil’ Doc doesn’t know can’t hurt her…’

Mac’s eyebrow rose further as he swallowed his mouthful of burger.

‘A, it’ll hurt _you_ if your cholesterol levels rise.’ His smile grew wry. ‘B, trust me, she’ll find out. Somehow.’

Desi, smiling and feeling light and at peace, drained the last of her beer, then stuffed the last mouthful of her burger into her mouth, chewed and swallowed, knowing that leaving her partly-eaten food out around Jack was basically begging for it to be stolen. She waggled the beer bottle in her hand around.

‘Refill anyone?’

She got five nods or yeses or thanks, so headed inside to grab another six bottles from the fridge.

‘Wait up, I’ll help you out…’

Jack jogged into the house behind her, catching up just as she opened the fridge, and Desi arched a brow at him as she grabbed the first four beers and set them on the counter.

‘What sappy thing do you want to say to me?’

She could easily carry six beers; Jack should know that very well. He didn’t follow her in here to help her carry six beers, when he knew she could carry twice that many.

(Long story short, it’d been a dare.)

He grinned back at her, before shaking his head fondly and holding his hands up in surrender.

‘Alright, alright, you got me there, Dez. Got me there.’ Jack’s expression grew serious, though even more fond, loving. ‘Just wanted to say, I’m real proud of you.’ He paused. ‘Reckon they’d be too.’

That got one of those rare, sweet, warm smiles from the Vietnamese-American woman, and Jack just smiled back and held up his arms for a patented Jack Dalton bear hug, which Desi returned almost as tightly.

* * *

After she and Jack finished passing out the beers, Desi sat back down in her spot, took a swig from her beer, and then looked around the fire at her friends.

She wasn’t quite sure how she’d wound up thinking of them as friends.

She certainly wasn’t sure how they’d become family.

But somehow, along the way, they had.

She smiled and leaned back in her seat and spoke nonchalantly.

‘You know, if you want, you can call me Dez.’

That took a beat to parse, then Bozer, who was sitting next to her, whooped and pulled her in for a side-hug.

Riley reached out a fist to bump against Desi’s, shooting her a grin, while Mac arched a brow at her teasingly.

‘We’re only friends _now?_ ’

Desi just smirked right back at him.

‘Taking down psychopaths who order hits on themselves or tossing deadly stuffed animals together doesn’t make a friendship, Bill Nye.’

Mac raised his hands in surrender, expression saying, _fine, you have a point_ , before smiling at her, warm and completely unguarded.

‘Welcome to the family.’

_After all, as Jack says, there’s always room at the table for one more._

_Quite literally, hopefully, once I get the kinks out of my expanding dining table._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desi’s backstory is finally revealed! Hope you guys liked it; I ran a similar one for Cage in _The Path Not Taken_ , so did toss up whether I wanted to do this backstory. However, I felt I’d been put into a bit of a corner in accidentally coming up with a backstory for Cage that was basically what the show had alluded to for Desi (she doesn’t make friends with teammates because she’s lost people), so ultimately decided to run with this, with a focus on how that led to her friendship with Jack and owing him. 
> 
> There is no episode tag for this one, but here’s the press release for the next ep:
> 
> 4.15, Forgive/Forget. Drama is in the air when the Coltons and the Phoenix team up again, and the family makes sure that Billy Colton understands that he made a very, very big mistake.
> 
> See you in slightly-less-than-two weeks, hopefully!


	15. Forgive/Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama is in the air when the Coltons and the Phoenix team up again, and the family makes sure that Billy Colton understands that he made a very, very big mistake.

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

Mac, standing on a chair, reached up to tie a knot around one of the ceiling rafters. He then reached out to check that the last light bulb was screwed in place, before stepping onto the back of his couch. He double-checked the placement of the piece of tissue paper stretched out over a frame, face screwing up a little as he verified the math. Then, still balanced on the back of his couch, Mac looked out over his creation for a beat, then nodded in satisfaction. He strode out to the back deck, pulled out his phone and set it to record. He held it up, and then pulled the rope that dropped the brick that launched the catapult that launched the marble to start his tortellini-making spaghetti machine.

* * *

_Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking._

_Tortellini-making spaghetti machine? Has he lost it?_

_That’s completely dependent on whether I had it in the first place, which is debatable._

_Anyway, thing is, I’ve been stuck at home on medical leave for the last week. Jack, Bozer, Riley and Desi are in San Diego on a surveillance mission. Dad’s in D.C. for a whole host of meetings above my security clearance, and it’s Beth’s first day off in a fortnight and she’s running errands and enjoying not having to deal with terrible patients. Like yours truly._

_I’m bored. Really, really bored._

_Matty’s run out of a supply of gadgets from DARPA for me to improve._

_I’ve exhausted my queue of YouTube videos. None of my favourite channels have updated this week._

_I’ve read a tenth of my library for the sixteenth time._

_I’ve read the latest issues of New Scientist, Nature, Science, The Economist and Time Magazine._

_I’ve fixed four toasters and two blenders that were, according to the owner of my favourite appliance store, toast. Now I’m out of broken kitchen appliances._

_Ergo…tortellini-making spaghetti machine._

* * *

With a grin (his tortellini-making spaghetti machine was a resounding success), Mac uploaded the video of his creation to the chain of texts he exchanged with Valerie, along with a request for pictures of the latest car restoration project she was working on with her dad. He also texted the video to his dad (he figured the elder MacGyver was probably bored out of his mind too), and one to Beth, since she appreciated fine engineering and all.

Texts sent, Mac walked into his kitchen and grabbed a bowl and a fork and a large slotted spoon.

* * *

Precisely seven minutes later (he was counting, because he was that bored), his phone chimed with a reply. It was from Beth, which wasn’t surprising, as his dad was probably in a classified meeting and Valerie was in class.

**That, Angus MacGyver, is amazing!**

**And you must be so, so bored.**

**Are the tortellini any good? Somehow, I feel that Bozer would consider this wonderful machine of yours sacrilege, so for its sake and yours, I hope they are!**

Mac chuckled and started typing out a reply one-handed, as he was holding a large slotted spoon in the other.

**Well, I’ll let you know in a couple minutes. They’re just finishing cooking right now.**

He fished out the tortellini as his phone chimed with her instant reply.

**Mac, are you so bored that you built a tortellini-making spaghetti machine to make yourself lunch?!?!**

**On one hand, I should not be surprised, on the other hand…well, it does seem rather excessively inefficient.**

Mac grinned sheepishly (not that she could see, but Beth _was_ right) over his bowl of tortellini (which were good, but nowhere near as good as his best friend’s – he’d definitely have to disassemble the whole thing before Bozer got home, or face his wrath for more than the fact that it took up more than half the living room), then started formulating a reply. However, he got another text from Beth before he finished it.

**I have to ask. Why a tortellini-making spaghetti machine? I mean, why not start with a spaghetti-making one? Or even a ravioli-making one, given that they’re simpler…**

He smirked, and abandoned his original reply, scrolling through the videos he had saved on his phone and sending her two of them.

It was about ten minutes before he got a reply, and he’d ploughed his way through most of the tortellini by then.

**I should have known!**

**You are brilliant. Absolutely crazy and ridiculous, but absolutely brilliant!**

**How was the spaghetti, and the ravioli? And how did you control the trajectory of those marbles so well?**

He could just about see the look on her face. A little astounded, definitely impressed, and completely fascinated and curious.

That made him smile wider as he polished off the last of his lunch, and typed out a reply to her with the hand that wasn’t holding a fork.

* * *

**CHEAP MOTEL**

**BAY AREA**

**CALIFORNIA**

* * *

Mama Colton turned away from the little table at which Frank was sitting, his laptop open in front of him, with Billy and Jessie looking over his shoulders. She walked over to the dingy little kitchenette in their motel room, pulled a box out of the minibar fridge, and started cutting up the pecan pie inside.

Just because they were on the road, pursuing a skip, a thief wanted in thirty-seven states with a very sizeable bounty on his head, didn’t mean they couldn’t eat well.

She’d just finished dishing up the pie when she was interrupted by Frank’s voice.

‘Mama, you’re gonna want to see this…’

She knew that tone, so abandoned the pie and strode over, Jessie and Billy stepping back automatically to let her look at Frank’s laptop screen.

Which showed a CCTV feed, of their skip breaking into a clearly-secure facility that was obviously one of the government’s.

He walked through the facility, which was full of science labs, and broke into a safe (quite impressively, Mama had to admit), pulled out a briefcase labelled ‘classified’ and ‘top secret’, then left the facility using a different route than the one he’d entered by.

He was good. Seriously good.

Mama crossed her arms, and huffed, just as Jessie spoke up.

‘It’s a DARPA facility, feds are gonna be all over this one.’

Billy continued.

‘We gonna cut our losses, pick a new target, Mama?’

Mama Colton whirled around, arms crossed, and arched an eyebrow at her son, whom she swore she’d raised right, but occasionally questioned, in times like these.

‘No, Billy, we ain’t.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. ‘Nobody takes away a Colton bounty, didn’t I teach you that?’

She dialled a number that she kept hidden and encrypted behind Frank’s best code.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…nah, Boze, not taking a dig at you, but those tacos, they were better than yours.’

Jack walked into the war room, talking to Bozer, the two of them followed by Desi, then Riley, then Mac.

‘He’s right. For once.’

Bozer grinned.

‘I’m not even mad, those tacos were-‘

Bozer stopped in his tracks as he and Jack realized just who else was in the war room with Matty, waiting for them.

Milliseconds later, Desi, Riley and Mac realized the same thing.

There was an awkward silence for a moment, which Jack broke, nodding in greeting.

‘Mama Colton. Jessie. Frank.’ He paused, tone changing from perfectly friendly, to something much colder and full of disdain. ‘Billy.’

Meanwhile, Desi, Bozer and Mac glanced at Riley with oddly-similar concerned looks. The hacker’s jaw had tightened, but she seemed otherwise focused on Matty and the beginning of their briefing on the big screen, ignoring Billy Colton.

(She had resolved to not waste her time and energy on that man, to focus on moving on. So she was not going to waste her time and energy getting embroiled in drama or whatever, she was going to do her job, and she was going to kick ass at it.)

Billy, who’d glanced over at her, tried to catch her eye, looked away when he realized he was not going to get a response.

Matty surveyed everyone in the room, like she was evaluating whether they could be professional or not, then seemingly satisfied, started the briefing.

‘Meet Peter Rivera.’ A photo of a Hispanic man, perhaps in his late thirties or forties, appeared on screen. ‘He’s a thief and he’s wanted in thirty-seven states, but he’s evaded law enforcement for years.’ Mama Colton gave a snort at that, and muttered something rather unflattering about law enforcement. Matty arched an eyebrow at that, but seemed to think the other woman had a point. ‘The Coltons tracked him to San Francisco…where he broke into a secure DARPA facility and stole a briefcase full of highly classified tech.’

Mac, fiddling with a paperclip that was starting to resemble a pie, glanced at Matty, then at the Coltons, and gave a little grin.

‘So we’re getting the team back together?’

Matty nodded.

‘The Coltons get the bounty, we get DARPA’s tech back and Rivera in custody.’ Mama Colton drove a hard bargain, but Matty was willing to give a little for the sake of long-term cooperation and a couple of favours between friends. ‘Jack, Billy, Mac, you’re heading to San Francisco to check DARPA’s labs for any evidence that might lead us to Rivera.’ Mac had to go, of course, and she and Mama had agreed that they had to give Jack a chance to threaten Billy soon, or there might be an Incident. That hunch was borne out by the death glare that Jack shot Billy, very obviously, across the room. ‘Riley, Frank, Bozer, I need you checking the web and financials.’

Mama smiled and held out a hand for Desi to shake.

‘And you, me and my Jessie, Agent Nguyen, are going after Rivera once we get a lead.’

Desi smiled and shook Mama Colton’s hand. She’d heard plenty about the Coltons, and Mama seemed like her type of person.

(Badass, protected the people who mattered, was upfront about what she wanted and how she was going to get it. Desi respected that.)

‘Call me Desi.’

From the way that Mama smiled back at her, eyes picking out Desi’s concealed weapons, Desi was pretty sure Mama thought she was her type of person too.

* * *

**DARPA FACILITY**

**SAN FRANCISCO**

* * *

Jack glanced around the alleyway behind the DARPA labs. His boy had already gone over all the potential entry points (including the air vents) and every single lock in the facility, so now he was rummaging through the trash cans out the back, doing…well, doing his thing.

Mac was crouching on the ground, having tipped over a trash can that was apparently interesting. He had sniffed a rotting banana peel and made some notes, and was currently staring at a soggy old French fry with great focus, holding it up to the light with some tweezers, before scribbling in his notebook again.

In other words, he was occupied, and was going to be for a while.

Jack eyed Billy Colton, who was leaning on the opposite side of the alleyway, arms crossed, apparently nonchalant. The bounty hunter had been keeping his distance, unsurprisingly.

The Texan grinned like a predator, and kicked his plan into high gear.

* * *

Soon, but not too soon, Jack had Billy cornered.

(Literally and figuratively.)

He noted with satisfaction that there was a distinct note of wariness, a _touch_ of fear, in the young man’s eyes.

(Billy might be brave, might be a fearless bounty hunter…but he clearly knew what he’d done, knew who he’d hurt, and knew what Jack could do.)

Jack smirked in satisfaction and drew it out as long as he could handle it, before crossing his arms.

‘Relax, buddy, I ain’t gonna punch your too-pretty face.’ Jack paused for effect. ‘Promised Diane I’d handle this without any violence.’ He leaned far-too-casually against the brick wall. ‘Also promised her that I’d make sure you get what you’ve done, and make sure that you’d never even think ‘bout hurting our baby girl again.’ Jack pushed off the wall, strode forward, just infringing on Billy’s personal space, voice lowering and growing serious, laced with dangerous, potentially deadly, protectiveness and anger. ‘So this is your one, only, last and final warning, man. You even think ‘bout hurting our girl again, and my lady ain’t gonna hold me to my promise. I’ll break your face for breaking her heart.’

Jack locked eyes with the bounty hunter for a moment, noting the flash of regret that passed through his eyes.

(It didn’t soften him towards the man. Of course he regretted it, Riley was incredible, awesome. For a while, Billy had been the lucky guy she’d chosen, but he’d thrown that gift away, alright. At best, he was an idiot.)

Then, Billy nodded. Just once, a little sharply, maybe with a touch of anger to it, but it was almost all acceptance.

‘Understood.’

Jack channelled his best Matty-the-Hun death glare at the bounty hunter for a few more seconds, before finally letting him off the hook, rather reluctantly.

(He still really, really wanted to break Billy’s face for breaking his little girl’s heart, but then Diane and Riley would be furious with him, and he’d promised Diane. Still, maybe he and Boze could make good on Boze’s old plan and key his car…)

‘Oi, brother, you done playing with the trash yet? ‘Cause I got a real hankering for a good burger and plenty of fries, no idea why…’

Mac, who was studying a slightly-fuzzy burger wrapper, quirked an eyebrow, then sighed.

‘I will never get used to your food habits…’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Desi opened the bathroom door, and pulled out her phone, sending out a text in her, Riley, Beth and Leanna’s group chat.

**How much do you want us to make his life hell, Ri?**

(Leanna might be on a top-secret mission in eastern Europe, but she was Leanna Martin. Desi knew she’d find a way to make Billy Colton’s life hell from wherever she was.)

(Beth was a sweetheart, but she was also fiercely protective, and besides, her apparently-terrifying wrath scared even MacGyvers. Sort-of, anyway. Desi was pretty sure it wasn’t just fear of her wrath that made them listen to her, even if it seemed to be her superpower.)

(And Riley might have decided to move on and not waste time or energy on the Idiot, but she might well have changed her mind. Desi reckoned it was a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, especially when confronted with her asshole cheating ex. Sure, she could delete his entire existence with a few keystrokes, but what was the fun in that?)

The bathroom door swung open unexpectedly, surprising Desi, as she hadn’t heard footsteps. Jessie Colton eyed Desi’s phone as the door swung closed behind her, then smiled.

‘Trust me, Mama already made his life hell.’ She hadn’t seen Desi’s phone screen, the Phoenix agent was sure, but she clearly had slightly underestimated the Coltons. Jessie smirked. ‘No pie for Billy for months.’ Her voice changed into a remarkably accurate imitation of her mother’s. ‘I raised you better than that, ain’t no way to treat a lady! She was the best thing that ever happened to you!’ Jessie’s voice returned to normal, her smirk widening. ‘So, what y’all gonna do to my lil’ bro?’ She shrugged when Desi arched a brow slightly at her. ‘Riley deserves a shot at him, and he _was_ an asshole. Family first doesn’t mean we don’t call each other out.’

Desi smiled.

Billy Colton aside, the Coltons were _awesome._

* * *

‘Matty-‘

‘-we got something.’

On the war room screen, Riley and Bozer, with Frank standing behind them, turned her laptop around, revealing a coded message on a very dodgy dark web version of Craigslist. A single tap of a key, and the message unscrambled itself into a set of coordinates, which was converted to an address in LA by a second keystroke.

Over the Phoenix agents’ heads, Frank spoke.

‘Rivera’s put the DARPA tech up for sale, he’s got a potential buyer, wants to inspect the goods before buying.’

In the war room, Matty and Mama exchanged a look, then turned around to face Jessie and Desi. Mama Colton smiled in a way that was nearly a smirk.

‘Looks like we’re showing these feds how it’s done.’

* * *

**A VERY DODGY AREA OF LA**

**(GENTRIFICATION HASN’T REACHED HERE YET)**

* * *

As Rivera took off, chased by Desi and Mama, Jessie aimed her shotgun and unnecessarily discarded a round, the noise startling the buyer, who had leaped up when Rivera took off, and stupidly, was hesitating before making his own escape. He’d just picked a direction when Jessie’s shotgun made that tell-tale click, and the bounty hunter spoke.

‘Oh, no you don’t, buddy.’

The somewhat rodent-like middle-aged man squeaked, spun around and looked like he might faint when he caught sight of Jessie, holding a shotgun like she knew how to use it, aimed at him and looking entirely willing to shoot him.

He squeaked again and put his hands up.

Jessie spoke again, addressing the voice in her ear.

‘Matty, I got him.’ She rolled her eyes as she stepped forward to search and cuff the man. ‘Thank God he didn’t faint.’

* * *

As Mama Colton chased Rivera, who was holding a briefcase, down the alleyway, Desi jumped from the rooftop to block his way. The thief reacted quickly, and blocked the punch she threw, but wasn’t quite quick enough to dodge the knee to the stomach that followed almost instantly. He doubled over, and Mama Colton raised her shotgun as Desi reached out to grab the man in a chokehold…and then, the alleyway filled with dense smoke.

Desi coughed as the smoke filled her lungs, looking around frantically, but seeing nothing except for the dark smoke. Listening carefully, she heard very, very faint footsteps, too quiet to pick out a direction, then a light scrabbling sound, and then, it was gone.

‘Mama!’

‘I hear you! You got eyes on him?’

Desi coughed again, waving a hand to try and clear some of the smoke.

‘No.’

The smoke cleared slowly, and when it had, Desi and Mama Colton were left standing in an empty alleyway, with no sign of Rivera, or the briefcase of stolen DARPA tech.

‘Damn it!’

Desi put a finger on her earpiece.

‘Matty, we lost Rivera.’

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

‘…we engaged him, and I was just about to pull him into a chokehold…’ In the Phoenix war room, all the furniture hastily shoved to the sides, Desi and Mama re-enacted their fight with Rivera, with Billy playing the part of Rivera on his mother’s orders. He didn’t seem very happy about that. ‘…and then, the alleyway filled with smoke.’

Mama Colton chipped in, her arms crossing.

‘And I didn’t see a thing. He didn’t grab anything out of his pocket or the like. Just released lots of smoke. Stinging smoke, too.’

Desi crossed her arms and spoke.

‘We couldn’t see anything, but I heard some very quiet footsteps and a…’ She paused for a moment. ‘Scrabbling sound, like he was climbing out of the alleyway.’

Jack, in typical Jack fashion, broke the silence.

‘Okay, so he’s a master thief, and from his other crazy heists, we know his parkour skills are outta the park.’ He paused for a moment to let everyone appreciate the pun. There were several groans. ‘But how’d he set off the smoke bomb without either of you seeing him grab it? Ain’t that impossible?’

Everyone looked baffled, except Mac, whose thinking-face appeared. He started muttering to himself, reached into the bowl of paperclips and rummaged inside, pulling out a marker, which made the other Phoenix agents exchange glances and half-whispers.

‘When did that get put in there?’

Jack sounded confused. Bozer shrugged, but put forward a suggestion.

‘Lil’ Doc?’

Riley and Desi exchanged a glance and just smiled and nodded.

‘Yup.’

‘It was prep for this type of situation.’

‘Thank God.’

That was accompanied by an eye-roll. The last time Mac had been seized by inspiration like this, he’d grabbed Riley’s brand-new lipstick and proceeded to use that as a marker.

(He had been very apologetic about that after he’d realized exactly what he’d done, and purchased her a new one, and offered to make it better – an offer she’d declined – but still, Riley wanted to avoid that happening again.)

Matty and Mama Colton, meanwhile, had had an entire silent conversation just in glances, before Matty spoke.

‘Baby Einstein, you’ve got the smoke bomb problem under control?’

‘…assuming average shoe size for a man of his height, the force exerted by Rivera’s left foot…uh, sorry, Matty, uh, yes.’ Mac gestured at the mathematical scribbles covering an entire panel of the war room glass. ‘I’ve got a couple of ideas, I’ve got to do some math to narrow them down, and maybe some experiments, I need to determine if the force is sufficient to discharge a mixture of…’ Mac trailed off, shaking his head a little. ‘Sorry. Just give me a couple hours.’

Mama Colton leaned down to speak to Matty, as Mac turned back to his math, muttering under his breath about what they assumed were chemicals.

‘He really is always like that, ain’t he?’

Matty just nodded, an exasperated, yet deep-down proud and fond look on her face that Mama recognized very well.

She looked at her Jessie and Frank and Billy like that all too often.

Then, Matty’s expression turned business-like again.

‘Riley, Frank, Bozer, go over the buyers’ phone and keep an eye out for any more sales. Rivera’s going to want to offload that tech.’ The three of them nodded, Riley and Frank picking up their rigs to move down to the lab. ‘Jack, Desi, Jessie, Billy, I want you ready to respond in case there is a sale.’ Jack grinned, and Desi and Jessie just nodded. Matty’s expression shifted a little, a touch of a smirk, her terrifying Matty-the-Hun smirk, appearing on her face. ‘Mama and I are going to have a little chat with Rivera’s buyer.’

* * *

Billy Colton relaxed ever-so-slightly as he walked into the men’s bathroom, having gotten no less than five glares from random Phoenix employees in the last half-hour.

Apparently, top-secret government super-spies were gossips.

And they were really protective of their own.

He’d just gotten comfortable when there was a loud thud that sounded like boots hitting the floor, and the door of the nearest cubicle opened, and out walked Desi.

Billy almost yelped in surprise.

‘Uh…this is the men’s.’

Desi just smiled cheerfully in a way that just seemed off, wrong.

‘I know. Last place you’d expect me, best place to throw you off balance.’ She leaned casually against the cubicle door, arms crossed, silent for a while, before she spoke, just as Billy had gotten antsy. ‘It’s been a while since I had girlfriends.’ She paused again. ‘Didn’t realize how much I missed hanging out with the girls, eating chocolate, doing our nails…and complaining about the stupidity of men.’ That terrifying smile was back. ‘Didn’t realize how much I missed giving asshole ex-boyfriends what they deserved either.’ Desi took a step forwards, and Billy instinctively took a step back. He’d heard about Desiree Nguyen’s prowess from his mother and his sister, and he knew she could kick his ass six ways to Sunday. Desi’s smile widened, taking on a touch of a smirk. She gestured to where Billy had nearly slammed into the sink. ‘Watch your step.’

And with that, she strode out of the men’s bathroom as if she did this every day.

Billy had just a handful of seconds to catch his breath when the door opened again, and in strode Matilda Webber, who simply shot him a look.

Billy gulped.

She had more than earned her nickname.

The woman was _terrifying._

* * *

Three hours later, Matty, Mama, Jessie, Billy, Jack, Mac and Desi were reconvening the war room.

‘…that buyer didn’t know anything.’

Mac gestured at the scribbles on the walls, which now covered three glass panels.

‘Rivera most likely used a pressure-activated smoke bomb located in the back of his left shoe. Unfortunately, it’s untraceable, because there’s fifteen different ways to produce smoke as you described using common household and industrial chemicals.’ Mac’s I-have-an-idea look appeared briefly. ‘Actually, sixteen, he could have combined…sorry.’

Mac looked sheepish, just as the war room screen changed to show Riley, Bozer and Frank down in the lab.

‘Matty, Rivera’s got another buyer.’

‘They’re meeting in two hours, here in LA.’

* * *

**THREE HOURS LATER**

* * *

Matty stood at the door of the Phoenix as her agents and the Coltons returned.

‘…brother, I told you it was a terrible idea!’

Mac rolled his eyes at his partner.

‘You encouraged me to do it!’

‘Did not!’

‘Did too!’

Mac and Jack were sopping wet, since Mac’s attempt to halt Rivera with a hose attached to a swimming pool pump had failed. Epically. Really, really epically.

Desi rolled her eyes at the two of them, miraculously unhurt and without a hair out of place.

She was followed by the Coltons, Jessie with her hair all askew and covered in leaves, Mama’s shirt torn from when Rivera had managed to catch it in a doorway to halt her pursuit of him. Behind them, Billy Colton limped in, favouring his left leg slightly (his knee had taken a knock), holding his right arm gingerly (his shoulder had been badly wrenched) and bleeding sluggishly from a cut to his forehead. Billy had tangled hand-to-hand with Rivera, nearly managed to take him out, but Rivera had gotten lucky when the bounty hunter had stumbled over a loose pool tile.

Matty just gestured to the elevator.

‘Infirmary’s down one floor, I’ve got a doc and a forensic tech waiting.’

Mama Colton nodded gratefully, stepping back and keeping a careful eye on her son as he limped over to the elevator.

‘Much obliged.’

* * *

As Bozer placed the tiny berry that’d been stuck to Billy’s hair in a specimen jar, he glanced around the infirmary.

Beth was looking over the X-rays and ultrasounds she’d taken of Billy’s left knee and right shoulder, her face screwed up a little in concentration, having already triaged him for any injuries that needed immediate attention. There was a piece of gauze taped to the cut on his head, which she’d clean and butterfly bandage later, after having dealt with the more serious injuries. The forensic tech had bustled off a minute ago, with all of Billy’s clothes and his shoes, leaving the bounty hunter in a hospital gown and Bozer to finish up collecting the last of the trace evidence, which he’d just done.

Thus, it was the perfect time to have a little chat with Billy.

(He was starting to sound like Jack. He’d spent _way_ too much time with Mac’s other BFF/surrogate dad/all-round Obi-Wan Kenobi.)

He pulled the curtain around Billy’s bed shut and crossed his arms, doing his best to channel Jack and look intimidating. Billy seemed impassive, looking Bozer right back in the eye, but Bozer’s super-spy senses were tingling. He thought he might have seen the man sigh, and gulp, nearly imperceptibly.

‘I love Riley, a lot, and if you mess with the people Bozer loves, you get the B-O-Z-E-R.’ Bozer paused for dramatic effect. ‘So don’t you _dare_ try and get back with Riley.’

Billy arched an eyebrow at him, a touch of his customary swagger and suave arrogance returning.

‘So you can make your move on her?’

Bozer shook his head immediately, firmly.

‘No, ‘cause she deserves better than you.’

There was nothing but honest, genuine conviction in there.

Bozer’s super-spy senses gave him the sense that there was a little more respect in his eyes when Billy looked up at him.

* * *

A half-hour later, Bozer had disappeared down to the lab, and Billy’s injuries had been treated and strapped by the pretty, sweet-looking woman that Bozer had called Lil’ Doc. She finished placing butterfly bandages over the cut on his forehead, and when she was done, took a step back and narrowed her eyes at him.

‘I should probably give you the benefit of the doubt, but I’ve learned the hard way that field agents are terrible patients as a rule, and from what I’ve heard, bounty hunters are unlikely to be any better.’ She pointed at his knee and his shoulder. ‘You are to take it easy and keep any weight off your injured knee and/or shoulder. You are _not_ going back into the field for at least a week, until you’ve recovered, or you risk doing far greater injury to yourself. Until then, you’re on light physical activity, which means walking to the bathroom, to go get yourself a snack, so on and so forth, as well as PT. If I have to, I will drag you back in here for monitoring and restrain you to your bed if need be.’

All Billy could do was nod obediently, a little frightened, though he was quite sure it didn’t show.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

(This little lady was a friend of Riley’s, and she might be tiny, and sweet and pretty, but she was _scary_ …)

(At least, she hadn’t threatened him.)

(Well, not about Riley, anyway.)

(Small mercies.)

* * *

Mac pulled the tiny berry out of the glass vial, and held it up to the light, examining it, before carefully sectioning it and placing it on a microscope slide, adding a little water and putting a coverslip over the top. He then placed the slide under the microscope and started examining it, mentally eliminating plant species from the short-list he’d previously created.

* * *

Bozer sat in front of a computer, comparing photos of fibres from the Phoenix’s database with a fibre they’d pulled off Billy’s jacket.

His brow furrowed as he came upon a likely hit, and he leaned forward to take a better look.

* * *

Riley and Frank typed, side-by-side, using the information that Mac, Bozer and the Phoenix’s forensics techs had found, combining it to determine a potential location for Rivera’s hide-out.

He had to have one, after all. He’d clearly set up shop in LA for now, so he had to have somewhere to hide, somewhere to build the smoke bomb gadget he’d used and stay off the grid.

It was just a matter of finding it.

* * *

A few minutes later, Riley grinned.

‘Got it.’

Frank just held out a fist for a fist-bump, and her grin widened.

* * *

**TWO HOURS LATER**

* * *

Standing on a rooftop in a dodgier, industrial part of LA, Mac carried a section of PVC piping on his shoulder as he set up a tear gas cannon. That joined a sedative dart-gun and a very strong electromagnet, which would hopefully aid in their capture of Rivera.

The tear gas cannon complete, he touched his earpiece.

‘I’m ready and in position.’

* * *

Riley and Frank sat in the back of a van, keeping an eye on Rivera’s HQ using everything at their fingertips: satellites, CCTV, ATM cameras and even a surveillance drone.

Bozer, who was sitting in the driver’s seat, kept a keen eye on the street, ready to drive off at top speed at a short notice.

‘We’re good to go.’

* * *

Desi and Jessie laughed as they sat in the beer garden of a trendy, hipster, gentrifying bar, which just-so-happened to be on the alleyway that the back door of Rivera’s warehouse-safehouse opened out onto.

Desi addressed Matty over her earpiece.

‘In position, boss.’

* * *

Jack, sitting in the passenger seat of a nondescript Phoenix vehicle, glanced at Mama, who was driving, grinned, and raised a hand to his earpiece.

‘We’re good. Let’s get this wannabe Houdini!’

With an affirmative from Matty, Mama grinned and stepped on the gas.

* * *

Jack and Mama, wearing damp bandanas over the bottom halves of their faces, burst into Rivera’s headquarters, catching the thief unawares.

However, despite the threat of Mama and Jack both pointing weapons at him, he pushed back hard against the ground with his left heel, causing the entire warehouse to fill with smoke. The damp bandanas made a huge difference, Mama noted, preventing the smoke from filling her lungs and causing her to cough, but it still drastically reduced visibility.

Still, they’d expected this, and Jack and Mama glanced at each other and smiled as they heard the tell-tale closing of the back door.

‘Dez-‘

‘In pursuit!’

Mama and Jack glanced at each other and turned, running for their vehicle.

* * *

Desi and Jessie pelted down the alleyway, chasing Rivera, who was about fifty feet ahead of them. They weren’t gaining, but it didn’t bother Desi.

Things were going exactly to plan.

They herded Rivera down another alleyway, and as Jessie kept up the pressure on their target, Desi brought her hand to her earpiece.

‘Bozer, Riley, Frank, you’re on.’

Rivera hopped onto a motorbike parked outside a motorbike shop, and took off screeching down the street, pursued immediately by the Phoenix van.

* * *

Bozer drove the van way too fast around a tight corner, causing Riley and Frank, buckled in in the back, to simultaneously grab their rigs to prevent them from hitting the ground.

As the van steadied, Riley watched their GPS tracking on her laptop, then picked up her phone.

‘Jack, over to you.’

* * *

As Rivera, still on his motorcycle, drove past, Mama pulled her and Jack’s car out of the alleyway they were parked in, cutting off Rivera, and forcing him to take a sharp left turn down a third, narrower alleyway.

She and Jack grinned, the Phoenix agent tapping his earpiece.

‘Dez, he’s all yours.’

* * *

Desi lay on the roof, her sniper rifle resting on the edge, and concentrated on nothing but her breathing and the target.

Completely calmly, when the moment was right, she pulled the trigger, and hit the target perfectly.

Four stories down, Rivera’s motorcycle screeched to a halt, the man unbalancing and forced to jump off and roll to the side.

The bike hit the opposite wall and caught fire, and Rivera jumped up, glancing behind him, where Jack and Mama’s car was gaining.

Desi muttered to herself as she watched the man run, and rolled her eyes.

‘Come on, really?’ She pressed a finger to her earpiece. ‘Mac, he’s coming your way…but I don’t think you’re gonna need the electromagnet.’

* * *

_Damn._

_I’m pretty proud of that electromagnet._

_Besides, it was really cool. Remember Bermuda?_

* * *

Mac pulled the gas mask down over his face, then pulled a rope to activate his tear gas cannon. Down in the alleyway below, Rivera began to cough, eyes tearing up, and Mac carefully aimed his sedative dart-gun.

He fired, hitting the thief in the right thigh, causing him to stagger.

* * *

Peter Rivera had never had an escape plan go so wrong.

One obstacle after the next, without relent.

He was a master of his craft; it should not be this hard.

Still, he dove low to the ground to avoid as much of the tear gas as possible, and yanked the stun dart out of his thigh, hopefully before all of it was injected.

His head swam, and when he tried to stand again, he heard footsteps, then voices.

‘Yeah, I wouldn’t do that, buddy.’

A muscular man with a Texan accent stood in front of him, blocking the alleyway, holding a sidearm like he very much knew how to use it, aimed at his face.

Rivera turned quickly, instinctively, only to find a woman holding a sawn-off shotgun, the barrel aimed squarely at him.

‘Listen to him, sugar.’

He looked up, to find an Asian woman with a sniper rifle on him, and a blonde man in a gas mask holding another stun dart.

Rivera cursed.

He’d never been caught before.

But he’d never faced anything like this.

He put his hands up.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

* * *

Billy was washing his hands when the door to the men’s bathroom opened, and he sighed internally as MacGyver walked in.

He was getting the full Ebenezer Scrooge, Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future treatment for sure.

He leaned on a half-wall, wishing he could cross his arms nonchalantly, but it hurt his shoulder too much.

‘Just get on with it, man.’

MacGyver raised an eyebrow, muttered something under his breath that might have been _that bad, huh_ and smiled in that disarming way of his.

‘I’m not going to threaten you, promise.’ Billy shot him a very sceptical look, and the blonde man raised a shoulder, somewhat awkwardly. ‘Riley can handle it, she could get you arrested or erase your existence with a few keystrokes. And she has all our help if she wants it.’

Billy smiled a little, sad and bitter and regretful. He and MacGyver stood in silence in the middle of the bathroom for a moment, before the bounty hunter broke it.

‘Two-timing her, that was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.’ He paused, looked MacGyver straight in the eye, because he knew from knowing them, knew from what Riley had told him when they’d been together, that he wasn’t just the brother she hadn’t had growing up because of the relationship they shared with Jack Dalton. ‘But I’m not gonna try and win her back, ‘cause that’d be an even bigger mistake.’

The blonde looked him right back in the eye for a beat, before nodding, in agreement and acceptance and approval.

* * *

Later, after a lengthy and detailed debrief (the Phoenix took that real seriously), Billy gestured to his mama and his siblings as they, along with some Phoenix agents, headed off with Rivera to deliver him and collect their bounty.

(After all the trouble they’d gone to capturing him, they were absolutely not going to risk letting him escape.)

(A similarly-large contingent of security had accompanied the recovered DARPA tech back to San Fran, too.)

His mama nodded, though not before shooting him a _look_ , which made Billy sigh.

(If he dared step out of line, there’d be no pie for him again for weeks.)

He limped down the hallway, following Riley, who’d headed for the lab, her rig under her arm.

‘Hey, Riley, can I have a moment?’

She turned sharply and looked at him, her expression inscrutable, for a moment, before giving a single nod. Wordlessly, she led him into a neighbouring conference room, put her rig down on the table and crossed her arms.

‘You’ve got a minute.’

Her words and posture were cold. It stung, but Billy reminded himself that he’d brought it upon himself, and made a distinct effort to turn off his usual cocky charm.

‘I’m sorry.’ He paused. ‘There’s no excuse for what I did.’

Riley stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.

‘No, there isn’t.’ She paused. ‘Thanks for the apology, but I don’t forgive you.’ That stung very, very badly. ‘I probably won’t, ever.’

Riley was not about to make her mother’s mistakes; how many times had Diane forgiven Elwood for gambling everything away or coming home drunk and shoving her around or disappearing for months on end pursuing some kind of con?

Diane would’ve been the first to tell her to not forgive Billy, to not welcome him back.

The bounty hunter just stared at her for a beat, something sad and regretful in his eyes, before nodding in acceptance.

‘I know.’

‘Look after yourself, Billy.’

And with that, Riley nodded once more, picked up her laptop, and walked past him perfunctorily, not even glancing back.

In the conference room, Billy braced his good hand against the table and sighed, his conscience feeling a little lighter.

* * *

As Riley headed towards the lab, the last conference room’s door opened, revealing Desi. The Asian woman gestured with her head towards the interior of the room, smiling in a way that was almost a knowing smirk.

‘Come on.’

Riley arched an eyebrow, but followed Desi into the room anyway. Beth was sitting inside, and the table was covered in snacks. The doctor smiled at her in a way that made her seem younger, and tilted a laptop screen to face Riley, revealing Leanna sitting in a nondescript hotel room, smiling and waving.

Riley smiled at her girlfriends, as Desi plopped herself down in a chair, propping her feet up on the table. She grabbed the remote for the TV and tossed it to Riley, whose smile widened as she started browsing the selection of movies that’d been uploaded, somehow, to the TV, probably courtesy of Bozer.

She had a really, really great family.

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

‘…we should play charades tonight.’

Bozer waggled his eyebrows at his BFF as he transferred the béchamel sauce for the lasagne he was making into the two very large, deep casserole dishes. 

Mac, who was in charge of grating the cheese using his semi-mechanised cheese grater, groaned as he speared the second ball of mozzarella with the holder and started turning the crank again.

Riley, who had been smiling softly towards the deck (where her mom and Jack were enjoying the view of LA and each other’s company), smirked, as did Desi.

(She’d heard the stories of Mac’s many charades failures when they’d been bored on the jet and had tried to come up with a game to play. They’d picked Truth or Dare over charades, because it just wasn’t fair to play against Mac. He was _that_ bad at it.)

Beth, meanwhile, who was chopping cucumbers for the garden salad, just tilted her head to the right a little in question, and Bozer grinned at her as he put down the pot that formerly contained the béchamel sauce, stage-whispering at her.

‘Trust me, you don’t wanna wind up on my homeboy’s team for charades. It’s one of the, like, six things that my bro’s bad at!’

Still turning the crank on his cheese-grating device, Mac protested half-heartedly.

‘The refrigerator one was obvious; there are evaporator coils on the back of every fridge and they have quite a distinct, standardized shape…’

He was met with two snorts, one _you keep thinking that, bro_ look and a rather sympathetic smile.

Mac trailed off and sighed, a note of a wry smile appearing on his face.

_Okay, okay. I’m bad at charades._

_I admit it._

Beth just reached out and patted his arm comfortingly, a half-wry, half-fond smile on her face.

‘You’re improbably good at an improbably large number of things, Mac. It would be impossibly absurd if you were good at everything…’

* * *

About forty-five minutes later, as Bozer and Matty ferried the last of the food onto the makeshift buffet table outside on the deck, Jack let his arm fall from where it was around Diane and gestured inside.

‘Want me to grab the rest of the family?’

Bozer put down the steaming, delicious-smelling, cheese-coated lasagne, tucked an oven mitt under his arm and shot Jack a thumbs up.

Jack shot one back and headed into the living room. Desi and Riley were sitting on the couch, chatting, while James was in the armchair, his eyes closed after a particularly taxing day just the day after a chemo session. Mac and Beth were sitting on the ground, grinning and bright-eyed like kids, talking a mile a minute in words Jack didn’t understand about Mac’s prism collection, which was scattered around them. Jack shook his head as his boy arranged two many-sided prisms in his left hand, then pointed something out with his right, which made Beth look very impressed. She then tilted her head to the right a little and asked a question that made Mac grin even wider.

Jack shook his head. Crazy, the pair of them. Absolutely crazy.

‘Alright, kids, prism playtime’s over, Boze says dinner’s ready…’

On the couch, unnoticed by anyone else except James MacGyver (who’d cracked his eyes open when Jack came in), Desi and Riley exchanged a knowing look.

James gave a little smile that had nothing to do with the delicious smell of lasagne wafting through the air.

* * *

After dinner, they all sat around the fire-pit, toasting marshmallows for s’mores. Mac shook his head as he rotated his marshmallow as per his marshmallow-toasting algorithm as Jack gleefully stuck his into the flames to set it on fire, before blowing out the flames, leaving behind a scorched marshmallow.

He glanced over at Riley, who was rolling her eyes at the older man’s antics, relaxed and happy and at home with her family.

She caught his eye and smiled.

Mac smiled back.

* * *

_If one of us gets lost, we help them find themselves._

_If one of us falls down, we help them pick themselves up._

_If one of us needs a shoulder to cry on, or matches to burn stuff, the rest of us are there._

_That’s what we do._

_We’re family._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, and that’s done at last! This has taken me ages to write, I’m afraid, I’ve been so busy! Still, hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Here’s the press release for the next ep:
> 
> 4.16, Parents/Children. Jack and Diane’s date night is interrupted by Elwood, who has accidentally uncovered the fact that his manager is a gun runner. The team must help Elwood get the evidence to take him down…and stop the smugglers from killing him.
> 
> Hopefully that’s up in two weeks (or less!).

**Author's Note:**

> I gave myself so many feels writing this, you have no idea…hopefully it did the same for you? This one is a little bit on the short side for what I’d like an ep to be, but I think it’s because part of the story I wanted to tell is already told in Bad and Worse, and that another portion of the story will be told in the ‘episode tag’ that I’ve written. (I’m trying to follow the ‘format’ of the show, which means not ending each ep with excessive Team-as-Family moments…as much as I want to!).
> 
> The ‘episode tag’ will be contained in _Moments So Dear _, which will contain all of my DIY ‘episode tags’ for this season. It’ll be up on Tuesday, and here’s the summary:__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _Where the Heart Is, tag to 4.01, Homemade. Jack settles back into life at home with his family._  
>   
> 
> __  
> _For a long time, I debated on whether I should bring Jack back or not, given that I’m not convinced George Eads is going to return as a regular. I also considered giving him a ‘guest star’ role in which he’s badly hurt at the end of this ep and forced to retire (in that version, he started a relationship with Diane and popped up regularly to dispense his wisdom), then decided…look, it’s fanfic, I’m not restricted by anything like real-life actor availability (or budget!), and it’s _my_ fanfic…so I’ll do what I want and bring back Jack! I figure that this will be a popular decision? :P_  
>  
> 
> __  
> _Here’s the press release for the next ep:_  
>   
> 
> __  
> _4.02, Gain/Loss. A simple protection detail allows Mac and Jack to fall back into being partners. Meanwhile, Riley and Bozer conspire, and Desi is distant, leading to Mac worrying that she’s leaving the Phoenix._  
>   
> 
> __  
> _A note on episode titles – I think A + B + C + D would just be ridiculous, so I’m not going to do it (and I wonder whether the show will for Season 4…some of the titles for Season 3 are honestly silly and overly-long). Instead, each episode will have a title of the format A/B._  
> 


End file.
